


Bound Together

by almostabeauty, Nurdles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM-lite, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sex Club, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, trigger warning for alcohol, trigger warning for indifferent grammar, trigger warning for plot mixed with smut, trigger warning for smut mixed with plot, trigger warning for use of the word "panties"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 201,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1542590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostabeauty/pseuds/almostabeauty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurdles/pseuds/Nurdles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you fall for someone whose name you don't know and face you cannot see?</p>
<p>Bound Together is, at its heart, a love story - wrapped up in a smutty candy shell. Don't let the whole sex club thing scare you away, because there really is more to it than that. This is nothing whatsoever like that more famous BDSM story everyone's heard of. Also, it is not s&m.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sales Pitch

**Brienne**

Brienne held the coffee cup in her hands, looking at the floor to avoid meeting Margaery’s eyes, “None of them are prepared to handle my ‘looks’,” she said, looking up at last. Her eyes were red, though she didn’t weep. “I give up, Marge. I’m swearing off men, dating, and sex,” She took a deep breath and leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. 

Margaery watched her best friend in sympathy. They’d been close as sisters since meeting in college years ago. Even though outwardly so different, they were kindred spirits. Margaery’s money and good looks often led people to underestimate or try to use her, while Brienne’s appearance and aloofness meant few took the time to get to know her. 

Once Margaery had gotten past Brienne’s forbidding exterior, she found herself taken with the tall woman’s direct manner and sense of honor, while Brienne was drawn to Margaery’s natural friendliness and insight into people.

When they’d been roommates at University they’d often stayed up all night talking about life, men, dating, sex, and their future hopes and dreams, often barely managing to drag themselves to morning classes. 

At Margaery’s persisent encouragement, Brienne had gotten past being so self-conscious of her height and plain looks and begun dating several college boys. It had been fun at the time, but always more difficult for her than it was for her beautiful friend. 

“Oh, Brie, you can’t give just give up on men! And especially not on _sex_. I know it seems impossible out there sometimes.” Margaery said, putting her dainty hand over Brienne’s larger one.

“I’m so tired of it all, though,” Brienne said, setting her cup down, “I just can’t pretend to be sociable, meek, _girlie_ , anymore. How can I be happy suppressing so much of who I am, just so guys won’t feel threatened by my height? It's always been difficult, even before _this_ ,” She put her hand up to her cheek, brushing her fingers over the raised scar tissue there.

Less than two years ago, Brienne and her brother Galladon had been on their way to visit their father in the hospital after he’d suffered a stroke. A huge fogbank had come up suddenly on the coast road and they’d been involved in a horrible multi-car pile-up. Galladon had died of his injuries. The grief of losing his only son had almost certainly contributed to their father’s death in the hospital soon after. 

Brienne had been the one driving, and though she hadn’t officially been at fault, she never got over the guilt. She’d refused the surgery that would have made the facial scarring less noticeable, choosing instead to wear the mark like a brand. She couldn’t understand why _she’d_ lived, when her brother and father had not. 

“You know that I wish you’d reconsider getting reconstructive surgery,” Margaery said, “But I realize you’re set on punishing yourself for the rest of your life no matter what I say. I just wish you didn’t have to feel so self-conscious as well. You’re lovely, and any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Hah,” Brienne said shortly, “But would I be lucky to have them? Who wants someone who feels like they’re ‘settling’ for you? I’m meant to be alone.”

“Stop that,” Marge said sternly, “I can accept that you need a break from dating, but I don’t think you need to be so alone. I mean, what about sex? Woman does not live by Hitachi alone…”

“Funny,” muttered Brienne, but smiled at her friend. 

“We all need to be touched by another person sometimes. It often just seems too complicated, doesn’t it?” Marge commiserated, “But what if I told you there was a way to get that, but in such a way you needn’t feel self-conscious or have to worry about having a relationship? Somewhere you could go and just enjoy yourself.” 

“It’s hard to imagine any place I would feel comfortable,” Brienne sighed “I hate to ask, but what do you have in mind?” 

“Have you ever tried it with a stranger?” Margaery said, scooting her chair closer to Brienne.

“Tried _what_ with a stranger?”

“You know… _sex_. Have you ever just hooked up with a stranger?”

“Yeah, and it was awful…the guy was disgusted when he got a close look at my gorgeous cheek.” Brienne scoffed.

“What if…what if you tried it while wearing a mask?” Margaery said.

Brienne frowned. “Are you mocking me now?”

“No. I’m talking about anonymity, fetishism.” The brunette looked at her, eyebrows arched.

Brienne smiled, suspecting a joke. “Marge…” she laughed.

“Brie, I’m talking about a place, a club, where people don’t know each other,” Margaery said, rushing to tell Brienne before she lost her nerve, “Everyone wears a mask and is forbidden to share personal information.” 

“Okay, _and_ …?” Brienne’s eyes were wide.

“And we have incredibly hot sex.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, maybe we engage in a little bondage. It’s a private club where you just have fun, without the torture of the ‘dating period.’.You could go there with me.” Margaery suggested.

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “A ‘little bondage?’”

“Okay, it’s a _bondage club_. It’s really fun, though!” Margaery could sense her friend’s curiosity, so she leaned in closer, “No names, just pseudonyms. You wear a mask the entire time and never, ever share any personal information.”

“The whole thing sounds weird. Isn’t bondage some weird kink that deviants are into? With like, hot pokers and stuff?”

“You’re thinking S and M, silly. Sado-Masochism can be done along with bondage, but this club is for bondage only. You can be a Domme or a submissive, and it’s totally sexy and safe. Everyone is tested first.”

“Tested?” Brienne sounded surprised.

“Yes, regularly tested… you know, for diseases and drugs. If you’re clean, you can participate. You can have different partners or just one partner for the entire season… And you get to choose what kind of things you prefer to do with your partner.” 

Brienne was uneasy. “Putting aside the weird tying people up aspect of it, I’m not about to risk myself out there with a bunch of guys, tested or not.” 

“Brie, it’s not a ‘bunch of guys’. Like I said, you can choose just one partner for the entire season if you want.” Margaery smiled encouragingly.

“Then it wouldn’t be casual, you’d get emotionally attached.” 

“Not really. You’d never fall for someone you don’t even know. You’d have no idea what he’s really like, whether he’s a complete jerk or a sweet guy. You won’t even know whether he’s single or married.” Margaery said.

“Married? Which would make anyone with him his mistress…” Brienne shook her head, looking displeased.

“No, it’d make you his _partner_ for the season. After that season you’d never see him again, unless you were both participating in the next season.” Margaery said, taking a sip of her tea.

“Season?” Brienne asked.

“That’s the time period including instruction and the experience.” Margaery rested her chin in her hand, looking at Brienne appealingly. 

“Oh gods, I just don’t know… it sounds crazy.” Brienne got up and put her empty cup in the dishwasher. 

Marge got up from her chair and placed her cup on the counter to pour more hot water into it. “It’s every Thursday night at The Sand. It’s wildly expensive… but I’d be so happy if you would consider it a gift and come for the new season with me.”

“No! Marge… that’s just… it’s insane, okay?” Brienne shook her head, but she was smiling at her friend, and Margaery knew she was at least considering it.

**Jaime**

“Someone might recognize me… The last thing I need is another scandal.” Jaime said as he lay down on the couch in his brother’s den, his long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Nonsense. This is a _very_ selective fetish club, completely confidential, guaranteed. And you’d be wearing a mask the entire time." Tyrion said, "Come on, Jaime; it’s been two years since you stopped seeing our _beloved_ cousin. You can’t keep your cock off the market for so long!” 

“My ‘cock off the market’? My cock was never _on_ the market, Tyrion. You’re being ridiculous” Jaime covered his eyes with his forearm and asked reluctantly, “Just how much do you pay for this ‘club’?”

“Only ten thousand for the entire season.” Tyrion said, leaning back in his recliner. 

“Ten thousand? I could just hire a whore for every night of the week for that.” Jaime laughed.

“And _that’s_ how you start a scandal. Imagine, Jaime Lannister, CEO of Casterly Bank, caught with a whore… Front page on every newspaper in the country. Father would be so proud.” Tyrion rolled his eyes.

“So you’re a member of this club?” Jaime asked.

“I _was_ a member of the club, before I got engaged,” Tyrion said, “And let me tell you, it was the best, hottest sex I’ve ever had. Well, except with Tysha, of course.”

Jaime wished he wasn't having this conversation with his brother, but Tyrion was right. While he still wasn’t entirely past the pain of his break-up, he’d never been a man content with celibacy. Anonymous sex was possibly just what he needed. 

“You might be right that I need something like this. I never thought I was interested in the kinky stuff, but you say it’s safe? No one’s going to try to string me up by my cock, right?”

“Well, I won't promise that, exactly,” Tyrion grinned, happy that Jaime was at least receptive to the hearing more. He was an absolute bear when he wasn't getting any.

“And it’s not a gay club, right? I mean, that’s okay for whoever wants it, but I’m only interested in women.”

“The club hosts seasons especially for bisexual or homosexual fun on different nights, but the one I’m talking about is mostly heterosexual play.”

“Mostly?”

“You just said it’s okay for whoever wants it,” Tyrion laughed, “there aren’t rules against same-sex contact, but those who want full-on play like that usually join a session just for that. You can’t be a prude when you’re thinking of being tied up and fucked by strangers, right? You will see both men and women getting sexed up for an audience.”

“I’m not fucking in front of people, Tyrion,” Jaime said, though the idea was secretly arousing. “Very well, I admit that you’ve got me intrigued. I _might_ try the club, if it really is discreet… What’s it called again?” 

“The Sand. Ellaria Sand, the woman behind the concept is a true visionary. Also, did I mention the part about the sex and _bondage_?” Tyrion said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Once or twice,” Jaime said drily, wondering what the hell he could be thinking, letting his little brother talk him into this. 


	2. Sand Ventures, Inc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to decide whether you are a Sub or Dom now,” Ellaria said, watching the play of emotions on his face, “Some people seem hard-wired to be one or the other, but many people who join the club find they enjoy both roles. I’m only asking you to keep an open mind about it. You may find that having a woman whose focus is on caring for and giving you pleasure through dominant role-play could be the best sex you’ve ever had.”
> 
> If the way his cock twitched at the idea was any indication, Ellaria could be correct. It was an odd thought, that he might go into this and not always be the one in charge.
> 
> _All members are required to have a meeting with founder Ellaria Sand before joining the club. Jaime and Brienne find their individual meetings with her to be quite...revealing._

**Jaime**

The first step to being admitted to the club, aside from the enormous expense, of course, was a private meeting with the club’s founder and director, Ellaria Sand. These meetings were held in a high rise building in King's Landing, in a small suite of offices on the nineteenth floor. A keycard had been delivered by private courier directly to Jaime not long after Tyrion had recommended him for Club Sand. The club only accepted applicants who’d been recommended by current or previous club members. While in some ways this compromised the anonymity of future members, it was a better alternative than recruiting from other high-end social clubs or discreetly advertising in such publications as the Robb Report, a magazine known for its well-heeled subscribers – and wanna-be’s -  who could buy a subscription to the quarterly for the price of a pair of designer boots. 

At the assigned time, Jaime used his keycard with its stylized sand castle logo to direct the elevator to the nineteenth floor. Keycards were coded to operate only within a short window of time to prevent members from inadvertently crossing paths and learning each other’s identity. 

Exiting the elevator, Jaime walked to the only door, which also bore the sand castle logo and the words Sand Ventures, Inc. He again used the card and opened the door to a tasteful reception area. A young blond man behind the desk smiled at him and stood.

“Mr. Lannister, welcome to Sand Ventures. May I fetch you something to drink? Coffee, whisky, a Cognac perhaps?” 

Jaime was surprised; Tyrion had mentioned that the corporation would run a background check on him, but had that included knowing what he liked to drink? Of course, finding out he subscribed to Whisky Connoisseur magazine would be no great feat. He wondered what else they might already know about him.

“It’s a bit early for alcohol, isn’t it?” he asked the blond.

“We don’t deal in propriety here, Mr. Lannister,” the boy said, winking at him. 

Gods, how he hated people that winked. This pup was flirting with him, no question. Jaime was used to men and women falling all over themselves to flatter him and win his interest. It was a side-effect of his wealth and good looks, and he’d learned to disregard it years ago. 

“A cognac then, thank you.” He said, seating himself in a wing chair in the reception area. Jaime gazed around the room; framed oil paintings, mostly landscapes of different sizes from tiny to rather large, hung upon the forest green walls. A leather couch and low coffee table were the only other pieces of furniture. The area was trying so hard to be a drawing room that Jaime was surprised not to see a hearth with a fire blazing away in it. 

“I think you’ll like this,” the young man said from the small bar near his desk. He carried the snifter of Cognac to Jaime, “I’m Olyvar, by the way.”

“Thank you, Olyvar,” Jaime said, taking the glass and swirling it to observe the rich amber color. He took a drink. “Courvoisier?” he asked. The boy nodded, smiled, and retreated behind his desk again.

Just a few moments passed before the door behind Olyvar’s desk opened and a tallish woman wearing a suit jacket over a silk blouse and short skirt stepped out. “Jaime? Welcome. I’m Ellaria. Please follow me.”

No problem, thought Jaime, admiring her long, tan legs and the sway of her hips as she led him to her office. She seated herself in one chair and waved at the other for Jaime to sit in. As he did so, Ellaria crossed her legs, giving Jaime a discreet flash of the red G-string she wore under the grey skirt. 

He took another sip of his Cognac, wondering if part of securing his membership in the club was getting him mildly aroused even before the interview. This woman radiated a sensual carnality that was at once sophisticated and dirty. Maybe it was knowing ahead of time that Ellaria presided over dozens of people who paid to have kinky sex under her supervision, but Jaime’s cock was already half-hard beneath his tailored slacks.

“As you know, Jaime, this is a very private club and members use pseudonyms at all times. Have you thought about what you’d like yours to be?”

As it happened, he had thought about it, even though he’d still been telling himself he probably wouldn’t want to join the club once he learned more about it. 

“Leo,” he told her, smiling. 

“Leo,” Ellaria said in her smoky voice, “That suits you. From now on I shall only refer to you by your club name.”

“I haven’t decided whether to join the club yet, to be honest,” Jaime said, taking a sip of his drink.

“Haven’t you?” Ellaria said with a seductive smile, “I quite think you have. Or are you hoping I’ll find some way to convince you?”

Jaime was speechless, wondering if the woman was offering something sexual to secure his business. He was surprised when Ellaria gave a throaty laugh and leaned forward to touch his hand.

“Leo, I read people very well. Someone like you, with power and money and, frankly, the kind of looks that say you could have anyone you wanted, male or female, does not take time out of his day to come meet with me if he hasn’t already decided.” She sat back again, smiling, “I spent many years as an escort, a _very highly paid_ escort. My instincts for what people want helped me build the Sand Club.”

Jaime nodded, smiling pleasantly. He appreciated people that were straight-forward.

“So you’re sort of Inara and Troi all wrapped up together in one incredibly hot package?” he asked with a smirk.

“Very good, Leo,” Ellaria acknowledged. She pressed a button under the armrest of her chair and said into the air, “Olyvar? Please bring in the Courvoisier and another snifter.”

Seconds later, Olyvar appeared with a filled glass for Ellaria and set the decanter on the low table. He departed without a word, his manner subservient. 

“Olyvar also works as one of the subs at the club,” Ellaria said, taking a sip of her Cognac, “He loves being part of the training scenes as a submissive. The members quite enjoy him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, “but I would have sworn Olyvar is gay. Or maybe he’s bisexual? Tyrion told me the club I was thinking of joining was hetero?”

“I understand your confusion; Olyvar does indeed only work the Tuesday night sessions. He is not into women at all. However, we do have a number of bisexual employees that work on Thursday nights. While the club is defined as het, there tends to be quite a bit of same-sex touching if all parties are agreed to it. Is that going to be a problem for you?” 

“Is it going to be a problem if I don’t participate in that?”

“Of course not, Leo. Many straights find it arousing to see something outside of their normal experience. If you feel judgmental of that, you might find the club a bit too exciting for your tastes.”

Jaime laughed, “You have me there. No, it won’t bother me at all, what other people choose to do.”

“I imagine that, like so many men, you enjoy a bit of porn now and then? Yes? I think you’ll enjoy what you’ll see happening at the club in the flesh.”

“Tyrion told me there was some public sex, but there are private rooms, right?”

“Are you _shy_ , Leo? You’ll get over that. Maybe not enough to fuck in front of a roomful of people watching you, but with your chosen paramour you will be quite exposed, especially if you play the role of a bottom or sub. Are you familiar with the terms ‘Dom’ and ‘sub,’ Leo?”

“I’ve read a little about it,” Jaime said, “The Dom, or dominant, does things to the sub or submissive partner, is that correct?”

“It’s much more than that. The power does rest with the Doms, but it is the power to give their sub pleasure and make them feel safe. The sub relinquishes control to their Dom and obeys them with the understanding that they will be cared for, given pleasure. In turn, the Dom derives pleasure from their role heightening the excitement of their sub and, of course, receiving physical gratification as well. It’s about more than sexual release, Leo; it’s psychologically very powerful to fill either of these roles.”

Jaime nodded, “I see,” he murmured.

“Do you, Leo? Tell me, do you have any idea whether you’re more of a sub or a Dom? No, don’t answer yet. I bet you think you’re a Dom. You have a high-powered job, a lot of responsibility. You’re very masculine, you like being in charge of your destiny. But my guess is that in the bedroom you’ve always been the giver in a relationship. Always one to meet expectations.”

Leo nodded again; it was only the truth. Cersei had always called the shots while he tried hard to please and keep her. He’d always believed that the one who loves the least controls the relationship, and over time the motto had come to represent what his only romantic relationship had been about. One never stood on solid ground with Cersei.

Beautiful, unpredictable Cersei, who always made him come to her so that she could take from him. Did that make her a Domme? But no, according to Ellaria, a Domme took care of their partner. That certainly wasn’t his former lover, not even when they’d both been much younger.

“You don’t have to decide whether you are a sub or Dom now,” Ellaria said, watching the play of emotions on his face, “Some people seem hard-wired to be one or the other, but many people who join the club find they enjoy both roles. I’m only asking you to keep an open mind about it. You may find that having a woman whose focus is on caring for and giving you pleasure through dominant role-play could be the best sex you’ve ever had.”

If the way his cock twitched at the idea was any indication, Ellaria could be correct. It was an odd thought, that he might go into this and not always be the one in charge.

“I’m going to send you home with some bedtime reading material, Leo,” Ellaria was saying, “It will lay out a sort of syllabus for the Season. The first two sessions are for demonstrations and practice. You will pick someone, or someone will pick you, to ‘practice’ basic ties with. Hopefully you’ll get to practice with several people, to learn what you want in your first Paramour. As you know, you may have a different Paramour every week, or you may attempt to engage with just one for the season.

“Our rules are few, but those we do have are strict. This is not a club for sadomasochism, and anyone one practicing it will be asked to leave. A certain amount of painful stimulation is allowed, but safety and a feeling of security are what the club is built around. 

“As you know, the Sand protects the identity of all members. As such, you may not share or ask for personal information. Your mask must be in place at all times. You’re joining the club very close to the opening session, so I hope you’ve already considered what kind of mask you’ll wear. I can recommend some fine artisans who can make whatever you like. All of the details of our rules and club etiquette are in the material you’ll be taking home.

“Also, in the club I am known as Madame Sand. If you need to speak with me about any club issues, please contact me at the number you’ll find in your packet. If you have an issue during a session, ask one of the employees to speak to me.”

Ellaria stood and so did Jaime. She held out her hand and he took it; she had a firm handshake. She walked him to the reception door and opened it for him. 

“I look forward to seeing you next Thursday, Leo. Call if you have any questions.”

Leo walked through the door and Olyvar stood to hand him an envelope. 

“Thursdays,” Olyvar sighed under his breath, looking disappointed.

**Brienne**

Brienne arrived early for her appointment with Ellaria Sand. She sat on a bench in the lobby of the high rise and pulled out her mini tablet, flipping open the case. She could read one of her many downloaded books, check her MyFace page, play Teeny Wings for the umpteenth frustrating time…she was never going to make it through the fourth island in fever mode to beat the game, and she just needed to accept it. Thank the gods she’d never been tempted to download Flippy Bird.

She wished she were better at backing down from a challenge, but she rarely did. It was one of the few things she admired about herself, that tenacity to see things through once she’d committed to them. She should have told Margaery she wasn’t going to do this, but then her best friend had implied that she was craven, and needed to start living her life again. Brienne had promised to participate, and she never went back on her word. 

It was surely the oddest thing Marge had ever gotten her to agree to, and that was saying a lot. Much as she wanted to hide from dealing with real life these days, she never could resist it when Margaery half-coaxed/half-shamed her into having fun. If not for Margaery’s insistence back in college, Brienne would never have dated at all. She’d probably still be a virgin today, hiding out at her quiet job at the lab, grocery shopping after midnight to avoid human contact, and being even more miserable than she was now. Having the force of nature that was Marge in her life meant that she’d taken chances, learned to have fun, and accepted herself as someone that was never happy with half-measures. 

Brienne found herself staring at the tablet, barely noticing when its screen went black. She looked up when a woman carrying a howling toddler walked by, jaw clenched with aggravation. An elderly man with a walker thumped his way slowly past, the cut tennis balls on the legs of his device making a muffled scraping sound. A man in an expensive suit came out of the elevator closest to her. He was deep in thought and carrying a plain brown folder, thick with documents. Nice eye candy, Brienne thought, watching him walk past out of the corner of her eye. Not your usual business type, with that longish hair. A couple walked by holding hands, both frowning. Brienne wondered if the gesture were a relic of affection long since guttered out.

Her tablet quacked softly in her lap. The alarm. She put the tablet back in her bag and stood, smoothing her blouse and tugging at her jeans. They were just long enough if she didn’t let them ride up on her thighs. She might be thinking of joining this very elite club, but she wasn’t going to try to dress like she was someone with ten thousand dollars to throw away on sexual adventure.

Less than five minutes later she found herself seated in an office across from Ellaria Sand, sipping Old No. 7 in the middle of the day. The cute gay boy in the front office had offered her a whisky, and she’d quickly accepted, thinking it was nice a coincidence that they had her favorite kind of beverage available. 

Madame Sand had given her an introduction, not exactly a sales-pitch, and asked her what her club name would be, and then repeated it back to her, "Sapphire," Madam said, smiling, "Yes, I like that. Welcome to the club, Sapphire." 

She found Madame Sand impressive and charismatic, though the intensity of her attention to Brienne was a bit alarming. It was like the woman could cut straight through her protective shell and _see_ her. Not just her weaknesses, but her strengths as well. 

“I assume that you’ve planned out a mask to hide your scar, Sapphire,” she said, sipping the whisky she'd poured for herself, “and even though it will probably make you feel less exposed, let me assure you that it wouldn’t matter if you left it uncovered.”

Brienne blushed. Most people avoided mentioning her scar, even as their eyes slid past it, trying to take it in without being obvious.

“Yes, I do plan to have a mask that covers that cheek,” Brienne confirmed, “I’m not comfortable dealing with the way people react to it, and frankly, joining this club is not so that I can ‘be myself.’ Margaery tells me this is all about letting loose of who you think you are and just having fun.”

“I can see why Rose would say that,” Madame Ellaria said, “But you may find you become more of yourself than ever in this environment, once your deepest desires are tapped.”

Brienne nodded, sipped her whisky, and decided not to argue the point. She had a hard time seeing the “real” her as someone who would join a bondage club and fuck strange men.

“As to your scar, I sense that you have issues accepting yourself. Not just the scar, but your height, your build…in everyday society, women of strength, physical and personal, are often shamed to keep them from their authentic power. You have both qualities, and have probably been beaten down for most of your life without a way to _own_ that power. You will be surprised at how appealing you'll be to both men and women at the Sand. Your physicality, your body, which is _very_ sexy, by the way, is going to be very sought after. I see the doubt in your remarkable eyes, Sapphire, but trust me on this. In an environment where we throw traditional mores to wind, people will feel free to admire what you have rather than trying to label it, and that includes your inner strength.”

_Sounds like new-age garbage to me_ , Brienne thought, but only nodded.

“I’m going to come right out and say that I think you would be an amazing Domme, and you would find a lot of satisfaction in taking control in this environment. You might even find the confidence that it gives you permeating your life outside the club, allowing you to take more charge in your life.”

Brienne shrugged and smiled politely. She’d believe it when she saw it, though to own the truth, she had imagined being a Domme was more arousing then the alternative.

“I’d love to see you join our Wednesday night group. I know you’ve marked down your preference as heterosexual, but the bisexual session – let’s just say that I find it personally arousing to think of you in that arena. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to experiment with that?”

“Positive,” Brienne said, thinking sourly of all the times her height and build had let her in for being tagged as lesbian, “I’m open-minded about people’s sexuality, Madame Sand, and that means I have not hesitated to think seriously about what mine is. Pain in the arse or not, I'm only attracted to men.”

“Sadly, I can see that you know what you’re about here. Forgive me for letting my own fantasies get in the way of my objectivity. Hopefully you can see it as a mark of how truly arousing your supple body and quiet strength are going to be. Are you sure you want to hide your scar? It really does make you seem deliciously dangerous. In any case, you’ll have more willing partners than you know what to do with,”  Madame Sand smiled, her face transforming into girlish delight, “Actually, if we train you right, you’ll know _exactly_ what to do with all your new suitors.”

**Ellaria**

After Ellaria had seen Sapphire out, she sat down to sip her whisky and think about the two new candidates she’d seen that afternoon. She’d suspected from the start that Sapphire was straight, but it never hurt to push the limits when it came to her charges. She cared deeply for the experience and growth of everyone in her club, though she seldom let them know that she took such a personal interest.

Leo was an interesting man, too. To be quite honest, she wouldn’t mind teaching him a thing or two. He didn’t seem the type to volunteer, though, and that was the only way it would be appropriate for her to touch him the way she’d like to. But as hot as he was, that Sapphire…

The girl had no idea…

An image of the tall girl and Leo flashed through her mind, and Ellaria inhaled at the sudden vision. The two of them would be fantastic together, wouldn’t they? It might never happen, the two of them hooking up, but if they did she hoped they’d agree to a public scene at some point. Just the thought of watching those two was enough to make her wet with anticipation for the new Season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep the comments coming! We're _very_ gratified by the positive response our venture into Club Sand has generated.
> 
> In case you didn't recognize him, Landon is the nameless "procurer" from S4E3 of Game of Thrones. Note: Thanks to Coraleeveritas, the character's official name is Olyvar!
> 
> Smut is Coming. I think the icon for that would be throne of cocks, wouldn't it?


	3. Open Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three women looked around for the man in question, trying not to be too obvious. Brienne spotted him first from her greater vantage point. Wildling wasn't kidding, the man was a looker. Even with his exquisite lion mask she could see the stubbled line of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the burnished gold of his hair, just long enough to brush the collar of his black shirt. He looked like one of the gods, come down to mingle with the mortals.
> 
> Let the Season begin at Club Sand! Brienne and Margaery arrive for the very first session of the season.

Brienne was intimidated by the size of the estate alone as Margaery drove them through the expansive grounds. The road wound up through several hilly acres of prime Pentos real estate, and she caught glimpses of the distant sea through the blooming oleander and towering palm trees and arborvitae. Off in the distance, Brienne could have sworn she saw zebras and emus cavorting about the grounds.

When they drew closer to the mansion itself Brienne caught her breath at the grandeur of it. 

“It’s like a castle!” she said, taking in the towers and arches of the main building.

“It has been called the ‘Sand Castle’ from time to time,” Margaery laughed, “I used to wonder what people did up here. If I had only known!”

Bougainvillea vines with deep red flowers clung to the marble columns flanking the huge entryway, and a few young men liveried in black and gold uniforms with simple black masks over their faces stood smartly at the curved drive waiting to park cars for the arriving guests.

“Time to put on our masks,” Margaery reminded her. 

Brienne picked up the cat mask resting on her lap and carefully settled it over her face, making sure the leather ribbon securing it did not muss her hair. The mask, a gift from Margaery, was custom made, with generous slanted eyeholes to show off her best feature. The mask curved gracefully over her nose and covered her left cheek, hiding her scar completely. Brienne liked the asymmetrical look of it, and felt it was a bit symbolic of her life and personality. Short, very fine feathers covered the bulk of the mask in a gold and blue pattern. Multicolored crystals were cleverly inset throughout the design to make it sparkle. Larger feathers fringed the edges of the mask, adding to its exotic beauty. Brienne thought she wouldn’t mind wearing a mask like this every day.

Margaery pulled her own mask on, barely slowing the car to do so. Her mask was more revealing, showing off her dimples and small nose, with curving eyeholes giving her something of an elfish appearance. It was decorated in stylized roses made from thousands of tiny gems in all hues of red and pink atop a satiny black surface.

Both women wore simple black clothing; leggings and low-cut silk shirts. Margaery wore high-heeled leather boots that hugged her slender legs from ankle to just above her knees, while Brienne had chosen a pair of fuck-me-now pumps with four inch heels. If she was going to do this, she may as well show off her height rather than try to minimize it. Let whatever men she met know what they were dealing with right away. She was done hiding, at least while she was here.

When Marge pulled her Mercedes up, one of the men dashed around the car to open her door while another opened Brienne’s. Trying not to be flustered by the courtly bow and the proffered hand to help her out of the car, Brienne unfolded herself and stood. Six foot seven in her heels, she towered over the valet. He gave her an appreciative smile as he was looking her up and down, then walked her to the door. Another uniformed man opened the doors and ushered them inside. 

More cars were pulling up as the Mercedes was driven away by the valet. Brienne noticed that all of them were expensive, high-end vehicles, though they ranged from tiny sports cars to huge SUVs. The occupants all wore masks, and most seemed to be arriving alone.

It occurred to Brienne that it could be awkward, doing this with Margaery. Best friends or not, it wasn't a common thing to join a fetish club together, although after the informational sessions they would see each other only at the beginning of the evening. She hoped Marge wouldn’t insist on hearing all the details once she’d chosen someone to…well, someone to fuck. Someone to tie up and fuck, or vice versa. 

Brienne found herself growing a bit excited thinking about having sex with a total stranger. A stranger who would never see her face with its ruined cheek. Someone who would find her height erotic rather than intimidating. When she’d met with Madame Sand the week before the woman had suggested that Brienne’s strong appearance was going to make her very sought after, though she found the idea unlikely.

Even after the basics of submission and domination in bondage play were explained by Ellaria, she wasn’t sure if she was more interested in being tied up herself or tying a man up and having her way with him. Both ideas had found their way into her nighttime fantasies once she’d agreed to join the club. She’d always been a very physical person, so while she felt prepared to give up on romantic relationships, in a way she was glad she didn’t have to give up sex. Jogging and fencing were fine, but this would hopefully be a _lot_ more fun.

Margaery turned to her with a conspiratorial smile, “I’m wet just thinking about tonight,” she said, “I think I might volunteer this time.”

Brienne opened her mouth in surprise, as much at Marge’s over-sharing as the idea that volunteers would be needed.

“Volunteer? I don’t think you mentioned anything of the sort when you told me about the ‘training.’” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” her friend assured her, “This first week we _mostly_ keep our clothes on, but they always ask if anyone wants to be part of the demonstration before we get to practice with a partner.”

Brienne had known there would be practice, but hadn’t really wanted to think about the reality of it. That was going to be weird enough, but the idea of getting up in front of an audience…?

“What do they do to the volunteers?” she asked in a whisper.

“Oh, you know, tie them up to demonstrate knots and positions.”

“Do they touch you?”

“Of course they touch you, silly. Those ropes don’t tie themselves.”

“I mean do they… _touch_ you. Lay hands on you, stroke you, tease you, um, pretend to fuck you?”

“Oh, only in a very mild way,” Marge laughed at Brienne’s scandalized expression, “You’re going to have to give up any prudish tendencies here, Brie. In fact, let’s get something to drink to help you loosen up. Come on, the ballroom is open.”

Margaery pulled her toward a room with its doors wide open and music playing inside. The music was odd, sensuous. It reminded Brienne of a show she’d seen in Vaes Dothrak a couple years ago featuring semi-nude acrobats and suggestive puppets. It had an underlying beat that seemed to mimic her racing pulse. 

Inside there were deep couches facing a raised dais near the center of the room. Subtle spotlights made the bed on the stage glow like a promise, though the elaborate bedframe, decorated with chains, ropes, ties, and cuffs, looked like a scene out of a horror movie. _What am I doing here_? She thought, half panicked. 

There were already several masked club members in the room. Some were sitting alone on couches, looking uncertain, while others were circulating and chatting up prospective partners. Margaery led her to the bar.

“Two double whiskies, please,” she told the masked bartender with a flirty smile. Brienne noticed that he was tall, very well built, and wearing nothing more than a leather harness on his chest and a very brief thong. 

Any other time Brienne would have thought the outfit ridiculous, but tonight she found herself wondering if this man would be aiding in the demonstrations. She was immediately curious and aroused by the thought. Unable to help herself, she looked at his crotch, wondering how much his cock would stretch his garment when he was hard.

Margaery had to clear her throat twice before Brienne tore her eyes away from the tantalizing sight and accepted her drink. She could feel herself blushing furiously, and the bartender’s knowing smile made her want to crawl under a rock.

“At least I know you’re getting in the right frame of mind,” Marge laughed, leading her over to a group of people standing near the stage. Brienne took a large swallow of her drink as she walked, immediately regretting her haste as the top shelf liquor burned down her throat. She tried to relax her throat muscles so she wouldn’t end up coughing. Normally she enjoyed good whisky, the peatier the better. Taking a more careful sip, she realized that this was probably one of the best whiskies she’d ever had.

The group near the stage included men and women, all of them attired in black with elaborate masks. Brienne noticed that several of the men and some of the women were avidly looking them over as they walked up. _Probably just looking at Margaery_ , she thought, a familiar sense of inadequacy starting to dampen her spirits.

“Rose!” a redheaded woman, in a mask that looked like a patchwork of animal pelts, sang out, and stepped forward to embrace Margaery. 

“Wildling, I didn’t know you were doing this Season,” Marge said happily, “I’d like you all to meet Sapphire. This is her first Season.”

Margaery took Brienne’s hand and drew her forward. Wildling looked up at her, smiling, “We may as well go home now, Rose. All of the boys are going to want her.”

Brienne felt the blood drain from her face. Was she to be mocked even here?

“I know,” Marge said, “It’s not fair of the gods to give one woman such fantastic legs…”

“Sapphire, hello, I’m Sellsword,” a slightly older man said, offering his hand and a smile that left Brienne in no doubt of just what kind of sword he’d like to sell her. She allowed him to shake her hand, feeling the hard calluses on his, the strength in his grip. His eyes were a lively light blue, his hair shaggy and dark, “It’s my sixth Season,” he confided, “but I've never seen someone like you before. I’m gettin’ hard just thinking of you tying me up and riding me like…”

“Give the poor girl a break!” another man broke in, “You’ll scare her off before she knows what we’re about. I’m called Crow. Welcome to the Sand. Are you a Domme or a Sub or do you like to be both?”

“Uh…” Brienne stuttered, looking at Margaery for help. She knew the difference, but hadn’t expected to be asked to decide so boldly. It was a sex club after all; she shouldn’t be surprised that sex was the main topic of conversation.

“Well, whatever you are, I’d love to be one of the lucky men you get to find out with,” Crow said. He was at least a foot shorter than her, but he had appealing dark brown eyes and a mop of luxurious black hair curling around his shoulders.

“I believe you promised me the first ‘dance’ though,” Wildling said, a hint of jealousy in her voice, “This one knows nothing, Sapphire, you’d find a more likely partner in Sellsword.”

“I know some things,” Crow said, and suggestively licked his lips, smiling at Wildling, “Remember that she can decide on one paramour or several. If either of us is still available after the first real session…”

“Aye, and you might be,” Wildling said dismissively. “Rose, did you see the new guy that came in just before you? Tall, amazing jawline, blond, scruffy, lion mask?”

“No, we haven’t really looked around yet. Can you point him out?”

The three women looked around for the man in question, trying not to be too obvious. Brienne spotted him first from her greater vantage point. Wildling wasn't kidding, the man was a looker. Even with his exquisite lion mask she could see the stubbled line of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the burnished gold of his hair, just long enough to brush the collar of his black shirt. He looked like one of the gods, come down to mingle with the mortals. Brienne immediately knew he’d end up with Margaery or one of the other more petite women. But, oh, wouldn’t it be glorious to see that one naked and ready…

“I think Sapphire has spotted him,” Margaery laughed, “I haven’t seen her look that lustful since she saw the box of chocolate truffles I gave her for her last name day.”

“Go invite him to join our little group,” Wildling said, “he looks positively lost.”

The man did look somewhat uncomfortable, standing alone with his drink. Several women were milling around near him, obviously hoping he would notice them. There was an arrogance to his stance that Brienne didn’t especially like, even though with his looks and probable fortune he might have good reason to wear his pride like a cloak. Brienne smiled to herself as she suddenly realized who he reminded her of: Mr. Darcy, from her favorite book, Pride and Prejudice. His coloring was wrong, of course, but she could easily see him refusing to dance with her as “not handsome enough” to tempt him. 

Brienne was so absorbed staring at the man that she hadn’t noticed Margaery had left their little group until she saw her approaching the man in the lion mask. Marge smiled at him, said something that earned her a smile from him _oh gods, his dimples were to die for_ and easily took his hand to lead him over to their group. Brienne watched them approach, trying not to be disappointed at how well suited they looked together. Beautiful people always gravitated toward each other, and Marge was a great beauty, admired wherever she went. It still sometimes surprised Brienne that they were best friends, even though they were much alike in other ways.

“This is Leo,” Margaery announced when she’d reached the group, “He’s new, too. Leo, this is Wildling, Sellsword, Crow, and Sapphire. She’s new, just like you.”

Leo shook hands with each of them. When he took Brienne’s hand last, he held it a little longer than he’d held the others. He was tall, nearly as tall as she was without heels. Up close he was even more handsome than she’d supposed, with expressive sea-green eyes and a nose that, like hers, had probably been broken at some point. 

“I guess we’re the virgins here,” he said, with a small smile, “Unless…I suppose you might have done this kind of thing before, just not here?” 

“No, I’m a virg…I mean, I’m not a _virgin_ …” _shit, what am I saying?_ “I mean, yes, I’ve never done this before.”

“Are you nervous?” Leo asked curiously.

Was _he_ nervous? His expression gave nothing away but polite interest. 

“I, well, a bit,” Brienne said, pulling her hand back when he released it. 

“If you’re nervous, I’d be happy to help you get comfortable,” another voice broke in. Brienne noticed another man had joined their group. His mask was pale pink and seemed to have a squid motif. “I’m called Kraken. As in ‘release the kraken,’ if you get my drift.”

_Oh gods, is this one of those people who are into tentacle sex_? Thought Brienne.  The man had pale eyes that seemed a bit bulgy, and from the way he deliberately pulled up his pants he was hoping to draw her attention to his other bulges as well.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Brienne said, giving Margaery a panicked look. She was out of her depth already.

“Kraken,” Margaery acknowledged the man pleasantly, making no effort to hide her glance at his crotch. Brienne tried not to look, even though her curiosity was killing her when she saw Marge’s appreciative smile.

Finally her eyes came to rest on Leo again, and he smiled at her in bemusement. For a fleeting moment she felt a kinship with him, being thrown into this strange society together. Her heart skipped, thinking of this man and what he was also here for. Why would such a man want or need to find anonymous, kinky sex? But then, Margaery was here and no one would ever suspect it of her, either. Who really knew what kind of people were drawn to this sort of…activity.

Brienne was again struck by the thought that her best friend and this man, Leo, would end up in a room together. Marge would be the one who got to see him naked, to touch him. It only made sense. 

He still hadn’t broken eye contact with her, though. In fact, he wasn’t paying any attention to Marge or Wildling. Brienne licked her teeth behind her lips, probing to see if she’d missed a bit of food when she’d brushed earlier.

“Sapphires,” Leo said, and Brienne raised her eyebrows at him in question. “Your eyes, I can see why you chose Sapphire as a name. They’re astonishing.”

“Oh, Marge – I mean, _Rose_ came up with the name. Besides, I’m from – “

“Sapphire! Remember – _no personal information_! That’s the rule.” Margaery scolded her friend. She leaned a little closer to Leo, “Do you like rules, Leo? We have a lot of them here.”

Leo bit his lip, looking as though he wanted to laugh. “I never much cared for rules before this,” he said, “but I suppose one has to obey them here, don’t they?” He was looking up at Brienne again, as though to share a secret joke. Marge looked a little put out at his disinterest in her. 

“Attention, Ladies and Gentlemen,” a masculine voice rose over the crowd. Everyone turned to the stage, where a muscular man dressed similarly to the bartender stood. “It is time to begin the new Season. Please welcome our founder and inspiration, Madame Ellaria Sand.”

Madame Sand stepped up on stage, her dark, exotic beauty drawing an appreciative sigh from the crowd. She wore no mask, and her black bodysuit hugged her like another skin. The club members applauded her entrance.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. We have a lot to cover tonight, so let’s get started.”

“Sit with me?” Leo said softly to Brienne, touching her on the arm, “We newbies need to stick together.”

_Oh great, nothing like being immediately friend-zoned_ , Brienne thought. She must seem very safe indeed to this man. She hoped he wasn’t looking for a wing woman. She nodded and Leo led her to an available couch. He waited for her to sit down, and then sat next to her. 

“I wish I’d gotten another whisky,” he told her, “I think I’m going to need it. Is that what you’re drinking, too?” Brienne nodded, remembering to take a sip. When she sighed appreciatively Leo grinned at her. “A woman who enjoys a good whisky,” he noted, “always a good sign.”

_A good sign of what, exactly_? Brienne wondered. “I didn’t see the label for this one when the bartender poured,” _because I was busy staring at his crotch_ , “but my guess from the amount of smoky peat is that it’s from the far north, perhaps Winterfell or one of the boutique distilleries around there.” Brienne took another sip and held it on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing, “I’d guess this one is at least eight years old from the smoothness…”

Leo was looking at her, absorbed by what she was saying. _Oh gods, now he knows I’m a whisky geek_! She thought.

“I was thinking the same. Aged in seasoned oak, by the flavor.” He said. 

Brienne looked at him in surprise. Some men she’d known pretended to knowledge of whisky to look more worldly, but Leo apparently took his spirits as seriously as she did. 

Madame Sand was speaking again, “If you haven’t found at least one person to practice with, then please take five minutes to choose partners for the first hour or so. Afterwards you can mingle and meet someone new if you like.”

“Oh!” Brienne blurted, “Um, I guess we’ll be partners then? I mean, if that’s…”

“That was why I asked you to sit with me,” Leo said mildly, “Didn’t you read the syllabus Madame Sand gave you after your personal meeting with her?”

Thinking back, she had been given a sheaf of papers, which she’d looked over. Some parts she had really only skimmed, fearing they’d make her too anxious to go through with this if she knew all the details. 

Leo had known he was choosing her. She felt a rush of giddiness that he’d picked her for his first experience. 

“I guess I skimmed that part,” Brienne admitted, “I was afraid to overthink it.”

Leo nodded in understanding, “So now that you know, do you still want to partner with me?”

He was biting his lip, and even with the mask she could read the appeal in his eyes. Maybe he was as nervous as she was? Margaery said you couldn’t fall for someone you didn’t know, but she felt herself in very real danger of becoming addicted to this man’s eyes, and his deep voice, nearly as smoky as the whisky.

“Yes,” she whispered, stopping short of the ‘thank you’ she automatically wanted to add. He _chose_ her. At least for now. 

“While everyone is pairing up, let me get us fresh drinks then.” He took her glass and stood, smiling. _Relieved, maybe_? “Don’t let anyone else sit here, okay?”

And then he was walking away with their tumblers. Brienne watched his ass as he went, feeling arousal surge through her at the thought that she would get to touch this man, and be touched by him. Would he get hard when she practiced with him? Did practice involve intimate touching or just tying? She wished she’d read the information more thoroughly now.

“Sapphire,” she heard her club name and looked up. It was Kraken, the tentacle guy.

“Kraken,” she acknowledged, giving him a little smile.

“I thought we could be partners,” he said, looking her over boldly “I’m a _very_ good teacher.”

Brienne noticed that his cock was already half hard in his clinging black pants, and was surprised at the sudden sense of power it gave her. She wasn’t particularly attracted to this man, but the sight of his desire was affecting her nonetheless. Margaery might be onto something, with this club idea.

“Thank you, but I’ve already promised Leo. He’s just getting us drinks.”

“Perhaps the next, then?” 

“She’s promised me the first two dances,” she heard Leo say, and saw he’d come up behind their couch. He handed her a tumbler of whisky with a smile, a silent appeal in his eyes that she would agree with him. She couldn’t help but smile back at him, exposing her large, slightly crooked teeth. He smiled wider, and came around to sit beside her again.

“Oh, well, maybe later if you’re available,” Kraken muttered, and went off to find another conquest.

“You have a cute smile,” Leo said.

Brienne had closed her lips to hide her teeth, but found herself grinning at his words. Whether earnest or not, it was nice of him to compliment her.

“Thank you. You, too.” She managed. 

Leo chuckled and took a drink of his whisky, “This one’s from a different distillery. What do you think of it?”

She held up her glass to examine the rich amber color of the liquid. She took a sip and let it coat her tongue, feeling the burn of the alcohol heighten her senses.

“Gods be good,” she sighed, “I’m going to guess this one is even older, maybe twelve? Hints of cinnamon? Stored in an old port barrel. Sweeter than the other, spicy…”

Leo was watching her as she rhapsodized about the taste, his eyes darkening to see her enjoyment. “The bartender tells me we can have whatever we’d like stocked in our room,” he said, “This one is a fifteen year old vintage from a tiny distillery in Dorne.”

_Our room_? Surely he just meant that in a general sense, Brienne told herself. He couldn’t be committing to being her paramour yet, could he? The sudden image of kissing Leo and tasting good whisky on his tongue made her want that very much. Want _him_ very much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and thanks especially to all of our lovely commenters! Please keep the discussion going. The next chapter gets into _much _smuttier territory.__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Did you recognize all of our masked participants? Please let us know if you didn't guess who was who.__  
>   
> 
> _  
> _If you would like to see the location that inspired the Sand Castle, it is loosely based on__[Hearst Castle](http://www.hearstcastle.org/) in San Simeon, California.  
> 


	4. Embracing the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Is he being suggestive? Oh gods, did he just see me glance at his crotch?_ Brienne was in an agony of conflicting urges, whether to act bold and confident, laugh at his jest, pretend she wasn't checking him out, let him know she was checking him out…all while dealing with the fact that she was as aroused as Leo apparently was, but thanking the gods for being a woman and being able to conceal it for the most part.
> 
> _This is the chapter where everything escalates and you decide whether to retain your membership in Club Sand or go find a tamer fic. Newcomers, we remind you that this is a D &S club that features erotic bondage. There is no sado-masochism in this fic. Despite its explicit nature, this story is, at heart, a romance._

“Everyone, please be seated,” Madame Sand said from the dais, and there was a palpable sense of anticipation in the room. “Our first demonstration will be with the club’s own Stormcrow. He’ll be taking the sub, or ‘bottom', role.”

Stormcrow stepped up on stage. He was built on a heroic scale, and wore only a very tight thong. He had an odd tri-forked goatee dyed blue. 

“I’ll ask for volunteers in a bit, but for now I’ll demonstrate the first, basic ties on Storm. Volunteers have the choice whether or not to be nude or partially nude. As you know, we do allow scenes as part of the experience for those choosing to do so, but that’s for later. Tonight is just to get us started.”

Madame Sand picked a coiled white rope up from the bed and held it up, “Every room is equipped with this basic silk rope. Later we’ll be passing out ropes to practice with. Those ropes will be yours to take home afterwards and become accustomed to tying, alone or with a willing partner from _outside_ the club. I don’t think I need to remind any of you not to share personal information or ask for it.” 

The woman turned to Storm, who towered over her. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” she commanded.

To Brienne’s surprise, the man slid down his black thong, freeing his full erection for all to see before getting on the bed. She felt as though she was back in middle school sex education class; utterly riveted by the subject matter, but trying desperately not to appear so; trying to look everywhere and nowhere. Most of all she wanted to see Leo’s reaction to what was happening on the dais, but she didn’t want to make eye contact with him or anyone else. Her throat was dry, so she took a sip of her whisky. Her hand was shaking slightly as she lowered her glass.

“Spread your legs,” the woman told her sub, and he did so. She tied his ankles to the bed posts, explaining the proper way to tie the rope without cutting off the sub’s circulation, “You need to be able to slip two fingers between the rope and your partner’s skin. Depending on where your rope is tied this test can prove quite erotic. 

“Now, who wants to tie his wrists?”

Several women raised their hands. Madame Sand called on a petite young woman with fake-looking silver hair, dark eyebrows and a black and red mask that featured a dragon coiling around one side, its tail forming one of the eyeholes. She strode up and mounted the stage, smiling in anticipation. She took the offered rope and positioned herself near the head of the bed.

“Remember, being a Dom or Domme is about being in charge,” Madame Sand told the audience, “but also about taking care of your sub’s needs and making them feel safe. You can command them to position themselves for tying, or you can arrange them yourself.” She looked at the small woman with the rope, “Your choice.”

“Give me your hand,” the volunteer said, and Storm did. She must have been a first-timer as well, because she required some instruction on tying the man’s wrist and securing it above his head. She did better on the second arm and stood proudly surveying her work. Stormcrow was spread-eagled on the bed, firmly tied. 

“Test your bonds, sub,” Madame said. He pulled against the arm restraints, making his biceps bulge with the effort, then raised his hips off the bed, his thigh muscles straining, his erection impressively hard and very much the focal point. 

“Thank you, Dragon Lady, you may be seated. Now, what might be missing here?” Madame asked the crowd.

Various suggestions were called out: _nipple clamps_ , _a cock ring_ , _a Domme to mount him_ , _a blindfold_ …

“Blindfolds, ladies and gentlemen.” Madame Sand said, picking up a thick velvet one from the table of toys, “are problematic when your partner is wearing a mask. It’s best to discuss such a thing ahead of time in case your partner wants to put one on under their mask in the privacy of the changing room. As to the other toys mentioned, some of those are for later tonight. This first demonstration is Bondage 101. However, binding the genitals, arms, and breasts falls into that category. Would one of my ladies like to come up and do the honors on Stormcrow?”

To Brienne’s surprise and embarrassment, Margaery volunteered and was chosen to take the stage. Marge looked right at her and gave her an encouraging smile before selecting a small leather harness with decorative metal rivets to work with.

“That’s your friend, isn’t it?” Leo leaned over to whisper to her. Unable to help herself, Brienne glanced at Leo, hoping her mask was hiding most of her blush. A mantra was playing in her head: _Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look at his crotch whatever you do…_

“Yes, she convinced me to try this,” Brienne said, trying to keep her eyes trained on his.

“Not regretting it, I hope,” Leo said, his tone lightly teasing. Brienne shook her head. “Good. You might want to watch what she’s doing up there; it’s not something you want to do wrong.”

_Is he being suggestive? Oh gods, did he just see me glance at his crotch?_ Brienne was in an agony of conflicting urges, whether to act bold and confident, laugh at his jest, pretend she wasn't checking him out, let him know she was checking him out…all while dealing with the fact that she was as aroused as Leo apparently was, but thanking the gods for being a woman and being able to conceal it for the most part.  

But really, wasn't the whole point of joining this club to be able to get off without shame or feeling judged? It would take getting used to. Meanwhile, Marge was up on stage, holding up the harness while Madame Sand talked about different ways to bind a cock, either with pre-made harnesses and rings or using fine rope or silk ties. 

Someone in the audience, a man, raised his hand.

“Question, Ser?” Madame said.

“Yes, um, when we practice tonight, will we…?”

“It’s up to each person’s comfort level whether _you_ want to be bound with this level of intimacy in a public forum, naked or clothed. Though this kind of harness practically _begs_ for a naked cock to get any idea of its effectiveness,” Madame Ellaria smiled at her innuendo and looked around the room, to be sure she had everyone’s attention, “Potential Paramours often make their first decisions based on these training sessions, and participants also begin to discover if they’re more suited to be Tops or bottoms or enjoy being both. Next week, private rooms will be available for practice or one on one instruction with a club docent. The docent can instruct an individual or a couple, or even up to six members at once if requested. At that time being fully clothed is the exception rather than the rule. 

“Rose, you may proceed now.”

Marge got onto the bed and positioned herself so she was straddling the sub’s stomach with her back to him. She boldly took Storm’s cock in her hand and gave it a teasing squeeze. He moaned and raised his hips for her and she slipped one part of the little harness around his balls and secured the other at the base of his penis. Madame handed her a studded leather collar with a slim metal chain on it. Marge attached the chain to a small ring on the harness and then, kneeling beside the bound man, secured it around his neck. 

It looked barbaric and entirely erotic. When she’d signed up for this, it had never occurred to Brienne that she would end up sitting next to a man she was instantly attracted to, watching what amounted to live porn. She drank more of the whisky, fearing and hoping it would lower her inhibitions when they began to practice. Leo was sitting close to her, his warm thigh aligned with hers, quite seriously damaging her calm.

Madame Ellaria handed another chain to Rose, who clipped it to a ring on the center of the chain running from the collar to the sub’s cock. Two attendants, a man and a woman, appeared from the shadows and untied his arms and legs from the bed posts and re-bound his arms tightly behind him.

“Rose will now take Storm for a walk around the room. Traditionally we reward the first sub of the season used for demonstration with a walk around the room and a chance to be ‘petted.’ As Rose comes around with him the women are encouraged to give him some sort of pleasure. This is primarily a het-centric group, so it is optional for the men to pet him, though I assure you Storm won’t mind if you do. If Storm feels uncomfortable or threatened at any point he will use the club safeword 'Arakh.' If you _ever_ hear that word while dealing with anyone in this club, stop what you are doing immediately. This was covered with all of you privately, but I want it to be ingrained in all of your heads. Safety, and feeling safe, is paramount here.”

Rose led the man off the dais by his leash. With her high-heeled boots and confident walk she drew nearly as much attention as the sub she was in charge of. She went to the couch closest to the dais and presented him to a woman wearing a white and gold mask. The woman leaned forward and took Storm’s cock in one hand and cupped his balls in the other. To Brienne’s surprise she then placed her lips on the tip of his cock and kissed it. The man next to her in a red, tooled-leather mask shook his head with a smile, so Rose led Storm to the next couple. 

The woman there stood up and pulled Storm’s head down into a passionate kiss, all the while stroking his erection expertly. He bucked into her hand as she began stroking him tight and fast. She let go abruptly, and Storm groaned. 

Her partner, a short man in a peacock mask, tentatively reached out and ran his fingertips over the engorged head of Storm’s cock, avoiding the drop of liquid that had appeared at the tip.

Next, a woman with a hot pink, satin mask took Storm’s cock in hand and licked it like a fleshy lollipop, making a show of twirling her tongue around and around it as Storm grunted in pleasure. Just when it seemed he could take no more, the woman sat back, gave his ass a friendly swat and smiled up at him.

“As you can see,” Madame Ellaria pointed out, “no one is taking Storm to his climax. You probably know this is something called Orgasm Control, and it’s a technique many find heightens excitement, as the sub is repeatedly aroused without being allowed to climax. It takes practice to learn how to do this well. For our new members, please bear in mind that everyone wants a turn. If someone tells you to stop exciting the sub, please do so immediately.”

Margaery continued to lead Storm among the couches. At one couch a lushly plump woman with braided blond hair and a grey and pink mask slowly unbuttoned her blouse, making a show of it. Beneath the silk top she wore a red corset that ended just beneath her large breasts, pushing them up and out. She pulled Storm’s head down to them and he took her pale, puffy nipple into his mouth. 

“Harder,” she demanded, holding his head against her. Storm suckled the woman’s breast enthusiastically. “Now the other,” the woman told him, and he released the first nipple with an audible smack and sucked the other one into his mouth, pulling and mouthing at it. “Very good,” the woman told him, “Now lay down with your head on my partner’s lap.”

She turned and smiled at her partner, a man with an elaborate mask decorated with a crescent moon rising over one side and stars shining in a black enamel background. He moved so that his back was against the armrest of their couch and opened his thighs. 

Margaery and the woman guided Storm onto the couch and positioned him so his head rested on the man’s lap. The man began stroking Storm’s hair and face soothingly. Storm closed his eyes in pleasure, and the woman straddled his legs and leaned down to envelop his cock between her breasts. She began to move back and forth, fucking him with her tits as she held them tight around his erection, pinching her nipples as she did so. 

Leo inhaled sharply beside Brienne and she looked away from the couple to watch him. He was observing them avidly with a look on his face that made her wish she could ride him just like the woman was doing to the sub. Some of her pleasure ebbed away, realizing that with her small breasts she could never hope to measure up to such a performance.

Sensing her gaze, Leo looked away from the couple and smiled at her, “Gods, I had my doubts about this whole thing,” he said quietly, “But this is all really hot. I can’t wait to ‘practice’ with you, Sapphire.”

To her surprise he lifted one hand and caressed her full bottom lip with his thumb. Brienne felt a rush of desire shoot through her, coalescing in the throbbing heat between her legs. Leo leaned toward her and seemed about to replace his thumb with his lips when they heard a loud moaning from the other couch. 

They looked over and saw the woman getting off of Storm. Her breasts were slick with sweat and pre-cum. Margaery was tugging on Storm’s leash to lead him off the couch. His cock was so swollen and red with arousal that Brienne wondered if it was painful for him. The cock harness seemed very tight.

“I think that was a close one,” Leo whispered, “I don’t know how he’ll be able to stand anyone else touching him.”

Yet touch him they did, though the next few couches used gentler pressure, and some merely kissed and caressed everything but his penis, while others just gave his cock a single kiss or caress. Many of the men opted not to participate in the touching, but no one seemed concerned either way.

By the time Margaery brought Storm to their couch his breathing was more relaxed, though his cock was still rock hard.

“Just one more couch to go, and then we can count Storm up to his release.” Madame Sand announced, “Sapphire, Leo, see if you can give him a bit more stimulation to get him primed for that.”

Brienne drained the rest of her whisky for courage. She felt reckless and bold in that moment. She might not be able to muster enough cleavage to fuck a man with her tits, but she had other talents. Margaery was watching curiously to see what her stubborn friend would do after such a challenge from Ellaria. Leo was alert beside her, staring into her eyes. She raised her eyebrows in question to see if he wanted to participate, but he shook his head sheepishly. 

With a quick glance at Leo’s pants to appreciate just how aroused he was, Brienne gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile. Strangely she felt she wanted to prove something to him as well as to herself and Madame Sand. 

She got on her knees in front of the sub and cupped his balls with her right hand while leaving her left resting on the couch for balance. Looking right at Leo, she flicked her tongue against the head of Storm’s cock and watched as Leo swallowed convulsively. She began licking the sub’s big cock until it was gleaming wet and he was growling with pleasure. 

Leo shifted on the couch, trying to ease the pressure of snug pants against his erection. His eyes burned into hers and she could almost imagine he were the one she was teasing. 

To her surprise, Leo got on his knees as well, facing her with the sub between them. He lifted her left hand from the couch and slid one of her fingers into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it and Brienne felt a fresh rush of heat and moisture between her legs. 

She took Storm deeper into her mouth and began to suck, her cheeks hollowing as she slowly slid up and down. Leo mimicked the motion on her finger, and she found herself moaning as she worked the sub. Brienne let her gaze drop to admire the hard outline of Leo’s cock. When she looked up again, Leo exchanged finger for thumb, smirking at her around it, enjoying her regard. 

“ _Bravo_ , Sapphire and Leo,” Madame Sand’s amused voice cut in, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I don’t know what to call this exactly, but it makes a great scene. Sapphire, I think you’d better release Storm now.”

Abruptly, Brienne realized that Storm had his head thrown back, one long moan coming from him as he tried not to come. She released him with surprise and Margaery gave her a thumbs-up. _Oh, gods_.

“Much as I think all of us want to watch Leo and Sapphire continue their excellent play, we did promise Storm some relief.”

Marge led him back to the dais and Brienne and Leo got shakily back onto their couch, the mood temporarily broken as they became aware of their audience.

“That was a hell of a technique,” Leo whispered shakily in her ear.

“Bananas,” Brienne whispered back.

“Wha – bananas?”

“I’ll explain later. _Madame is talking_.”

“Thank you, Rose. I’ll take over for now,” Madame Sand said, “Stormcrow, are you ready to come?”

“Yes, Madame,” he said, “Please.”

“Get back on the bed,” she instructed. The attendants appeared and untied his arms and secured him back onto the bed as he was before. Madame Sand slipped out of her bodysuit and stood naked on the stage. The spotlight was on her; she looked as though she belonged in it. Her dusky skin was flawless, her cunt clean-shaven but for her Braavosi shave line. Her mahogany-colored nipples were tight with arousal. 

She stood tall and womanly in front of them for a moment before joining Storm on the bed. She gracefully straddled him as Margaery had done, facing the audience with her back to him. 

She raised her hips and guided his cock into her, sliding down its length slowly, teasingly. A sigh rose from many throats as she began to rock her hips sinuously. The more Storm moaned and thrust up into her, the faster she moved.

“I’m going to count, Storm. You must come when we reach one,” she said.

“Yes, Madame,” Storm rasped out.

“Count with me, everyone,” she commanded. 

A chorus of voices chanted “Five, four, three, two…one!” and then Storm was yelling  and gasping with his climax, straining against his bonds as he shuddered and writhed. 

To Brienne, it seemed to go on a long time. Leo looked impressed as well.

“Orgasm control.” Madame said, “will give your sub a longer, more intense orgasm. For women it will make her more likely to have many strong orgasms. As a Dominant this is your responsibility; to please your sub. As a sub, your responsibility is to obey your Top and please them as well. _Always_.” She lifted herself, letting Storm’s softening cock slip out of her. She got off of the bed and two assistants appeared and began to gently untie Storm.

“Now we’re going to take a short break before the next demonstration. Refresh your drinks, use the rest rooms. I know you’re all anxious to practice on each other, but you won’t want to miss what we have to show you next.” Madame Sand turned her back on her audience to kneel next to the bed, softly speaking to Storm and touching him lovingly as he recovered from his experience.

Leo turned to Brienne, his eyes lively.

“Now what’s this about ‘bananas’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is from Leo's POV, so we'll get to know his thoughts on all of this. Expect that to post on Monday.
> 
> Thank to everyone who has embraced this fic and left us comments and kudos. We're loving the response!


	5. All Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, “Whatever you wish, my lady,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound smarmy. He probably did; being courtly seldom worked in his favor, but he couldn’t help himself. _Being a romantic only leads to disappointment_ , he reminded himself.
> 
>  
> 
> _We've made it to chapter 5. Enjoy!_

Jaime turned to Sapphire, his eyes lively.

“Now what’s this about ‘bananas’?”

“Bananas…well, it’s kind of a silly story,” Sapphire said, hesitating.

“I enjoy a good story, and if it has anything to do with what you just…did there, I’m sure I want to hear it.” Jaime said, hoping his heartbeat would slow down enough to concentrate on it. 

Watching this girl, this tall, intriguing _woman_ , giving that sub a blow job while still connected to him, physically and through eye contact, _eye sex_ , was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in what seemed like years. 

“I…it might be too much information. You know about the rules: we’re not supposed to share personal details,” Sapphire said.

Jaime reached over and picked up her hand, the same he’d held moments ago. He stroked her palm slowly, “I think the kind of details they mean are things that could expose your identity, like your name, your job…unless ‘bananas’ is either of those, I think you’re safe.” He grinned at her and she smiled back, a thrilling combination of shy and bold. She really did have a cute smile; there was something genuine and endearing about her slightly crooked teeth, her plump lips. Of course, now that he’d seen those lips wrapped around a man’s cock…

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Sapphire said, “but you have to promise to laugh.”

“You mean I need to promise _not_ to laugh.”

“No, you have to laugh because it’s _funny_ ,”

“I promise,” he said, wondering if it was too soon to kiss her to seal the agreement. He smiled, thinking how illogical it was to be thinking kissing a woman in a sex club might be too forward, especially after what they’d just shared. 

“Well, when Rose and I were roommates in University, we spent entirely too much time thinking and talking about sex and reading those magazines, like Westerosi Woman and Dornish Diva, that were targeted at young single women who, like us, thought about little more than sex and relationships. Have you seen those magazines? Lots of articles like ‘Best Sex Positions for Your Star Sign,’ and ‘Ten Perfect Toenails when Summer is Coming.’ Vapid nonsense, really. I’m babbling, aren’t?” She said, starting to pull her hand away.

“Not at all,” Jaime assured her, “Go on.”

“Maybe you could get us another drink, first?” Sapphire said, “Some 90 proof courage for what’s coming up? When you come back I’ll finish telling you about the bananas.”

Jaime laughed, “After what I just saw, lack of _courage_ is not a problem for you.”

“All the same,” she said, “I would appreciate it, Leo.” 

She’d stopped looking into his eyes, and Jaime suddenly worried that he’d said the wrong thing. It was a reminder to him just how little practice he had interacting with a woman he was interested in. Attracting women was easy enough, his looks and money practically guaranteed that, but finding himself trying to win the regard of Sapphire had him confused. There was an innocence about her at odds with her unassuming sexiness that had engaged him from their first introduction.

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, “Whatever you wish, my lady,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound smarmy. He probably did; being courtly seldom worked in his favor, but he couldn’t help himself. _Being a romantic only leads to disappointment_ , he reminded himself.

At the bar he waited behind a few other people getting drinks before the next demonstration. He looked over at their couch and saw Sapphire stand up, run her hands down her long, long legs to smooth her leggings, then straighten and check her blouse. Gods, she was hot in those heels, and the hint of taut muscle in her legs gave him plenty of ideas about what she could do with those thighs wrapped around him.

“What can I get for you, Ser?” the bartender asked.

“Two whiskies,” Jaime said, “Any chance you have something from around Mistwood?”

“I do,” the bartender said, “Mertyn Estate Barrel Proof, if you’re up for that.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Jaime said. 

“I need to go into the back for that one. I’ll be right back,” the man told him, then turned and walked to a door several paces away. Jaime was presented with a view of the man’s nearly naked backside and tried not to laugh. The bartender obviously knew his trade, but his outfit was thoroughly undignified. How could anyone possibly take themselves seriously in a tiny thong like that?

The man was back quickly and showed Jaime the bottle with its stylized Mertyn owl before pouring some into two tulip-shaped tumblers. Jaime thanked him, and carried the glasses back to the couch he shared with Sapphire.

He handed one to Sapphire before sitting down and facing her. She waited until he was settled to swirl then smell the whisky, hold it to the light to examine the legs and, finally, take a sip. Jaime waited for her reaction, feeling slightly foolish for wanting to both please her and test the extent of her whisky knowledge.

After she’d swallowed she looked at him in surprise. He liked the way her brilliant blue eyes widened and her lips quirked up in a smile.

He smiled back, took a drink from his tumbler and then daringly leaned in and kissed her. A frisson of excitement ran through him as he tasted the hint of alcohol on her lips. She opened to him and the warm taste of whisky on her tongue was dizzying and new. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe he was slightly drunk, but kissing Sapphire with the shared flavor of the strong liquor felt intimate and exhilarating.

When they drew apart, she was grinning at him, her sparkling eyes a perfect complement to her cat mask.

“What did you think?” he asked, smiling back.

“Of the kiss or the whisky?”

“Both?”

“Well, I’d say the kiss was very high proof, and of rare quality. The whisky…” she took another sip, “is quite similar; cask strength? And what my father always called “butter-aged,”

“You’re right; it is cask strength, 120 proof. ‘Butter-aged’ is a new one to me.”

“That means it was aged so long that it’s smooth as butter,” she told him, raising her glass. “Tell me more about it.”

“It’s a Mertyn Estate, single malt, barrel aged fifteen years.”

“I knew it tasted like something from a Stormlands distillery!”

Jaime was surprised by her knowledge. How had he met a woman who shared his passion for whisky, in this of all places? 

“Two minutes, everyone,” Ellaria said from the stage.

“You promised me the banana story,” Jaime reminded Sapphire as he put his hand over hers where it rested on her knee. 

“I rather hoped you’d forgotten.”

“I’m not likely to forget _that_ as long as I live, so let’s have it.”

“All right. Well, Mar- _Rose_ was reading an article aloud from one of those magazines about performing oral sex, and it suggested you should practice on bananas, to learn how to swallow more without gagging.”  

Jaime laughed, “So you fellated bananas for practice?”

Sapphire chuckled, “Well, if you want to put it that way. I hardly think you can ‘fellate’ a banana, but yes, we did. They’re delicate, you know, so you learn to be careful.”

“I’ll probably never be able to look at banana bread again without getting aroused,” Jaime said, knowing his grin had passed from sexy on into silliness. This woman was full of surprises. How did she take an erotic subject like giving head and turn it into a charming anecdote? 

“Please be seated everyone,” Madame Sand called from the stage. She had draped a nearly transparent robe over herself. It emphasized rather than hid her nudity.

Jaime heard Sapphire take a deep breath: steadying her courage, perhaps, or just anticipating the next demonstration. He leaned in and kissed her again, with the same result as before; when their lips touched it felt like an electrical current passed between them, making his heart thump erratically. Jaime wished they could just spend some time kissing and making out on the couch. Such a strange thought to have, knowing that if he could keep her interest they soon would be doing much more than kissing. 

The kiss ended, and her eyes seemed dark and sexy as she pulled away. Jaime could tell that other than her astonishing eyes Sapphire wouldn’t be a great beauty under her mask; her nose was crooked and the shape of her face wasn’t delicate. She had a _lot_ of freckles, but they went well with her quirky smile. 

Physical beauty was overrated in Jaime’s opinion, with its ability to mask someone’s underlying ugliness. Cruelty was too easy to hide behind a perfect smile like Cersei’s. Sapphire was, thankfully, quite different from his ex-lover.

“Are you paying attention?” Sapphire whispered. 

“No, sorry. I was thinking about bananas,” he whispered back, and tried to focus on the stage. 

A man and a woman had joined Madame on the dais; the man stood beside Ellaria holding the leash of the woman standing meekly behind him. 

“I would like to introduce Master Valar, a Dom who has worked with the club for many years. After the demonstration and scene he’ll be performing with his sub, Redgrass, he’ll be available to help us practice basic bondage knots.”

“Do you speak any High Valyrian?” Jaime whispered to Sapphire.

“No, do you?”

“Not a lot, but the Dom’s name, ‘Valar,’ means ‘all men.’”

“A curious choice, since he’s with a woman,” Brienne noted.

“I think he’s inferring that he is ‘all men’ in a spiritual sense.”

“Sounds like a heap of _graddakh_ to me,” Brienne whispered back, “That’s Dothraki, by the way.”

“You know Dothraki?”

“Only swear words, but those are the only ones that matter.”

Valar was not an especially tall man, but he had a dangerous _presence_ about him. His hair was white on one side, auburn on the other, and fell past his broad shoulders in waves. His eyes were shadowy, narrow, and fringed with dark lashes that would have looked feminine on anyone else, and his black mask seemed molded to the upper part of his nearly expressionless face like a second skin. 

A leather harness crisscrossed Valar’s pale, muscular chest, hairless but for a line of red hair leading from his belly into the lambskin breeches set low on his hips. A v-flap of leather outlined his crotch and tied to either side of the pants

Behind him, Redgrass stood with downcast eyes behind her red and white mask. A long red robe draped from her narrow shoulders, its hem brushing the floor.

“Master Valar will be demonstrating an arm binding and a crotch tie tonight. More importantly, though, he’ll be showing us how to care for his sub’s needs. Some of you know each other from previous Seasons, but most of you will be with a new partner, or Paramour, for the first time when you pair-off in two weeks.”

Madame paused to make sure every person in the room was watching and listening as she continued, “I can’t stress enough how important it is to become familiar with your Paramour’s needs and limits. This can happen verbally or non-verbally, but Dom’s in particular are responsible for their sub’s safety and enjoyment. Find out and _memorize_ your partner’s safeword, as well as listening for the club’s default safeword, ‘Arakh’. 

“Our rules are very strict about care of subs; if someone has placed their trust in you and you violate that trust in any way, you will be removed from the club, facing either suspension or termination of membership.”

Members nodded nervously as she looked around the room, fixing this one and that with stern brown eyes. Jaime was struck by how the power and authority radiating from her enhanced her sexiness and desirability.

“Redgrass has chosen to have only one Dom, Valar, so of course they know each other’s desires quite well,” Madame continued, “Some subs cleave to a single Master, while others enjoy experiencing what other Doms have to offer. Valar does not limit himself to a single sub, and Redgrass understands that. As you explore your preferences, remember to honor those of other club members. If you choose to limit yourself to one Paramour for the season, please be sure your chosen one understands and agrees with your desires.”

Jaime looked at Sapphire out of the corner of his eye, hoping to gauge her reaction to this speech. She was focused on the stage, seeming mesmerized by Valar, standing mysterious and menacing as the Stranger himself. 

_It’s really too early to choose paramours anyway,_ Jaime thought, _or even partners for next week. There are plenty of willing women here to experiment with_. Jaime tried to focus on the stage again, _Sapphire could decide to be with someone else; the way the men watch her she’ll have her pick. One or many_. He shook his head, disconcerted by the sudden rush of disappointment he felt, _It’s a sex club, Jaime, not a date!_

He huffed out a sigh and looked back at the stage, but Sapphire had heard him and reached over to take his hand, her long fingers twining with his.

“Valar, you may begin.” Madame Sand said, and stepped out of the spotlight.

Valar turned to face Redgrass, wrapping her leash around his hand, shortening it. Redgrass let herself be pulled to him, but kept her eyes lowered. The spotlight caught the garnets and Valyrian crystals in her collar as Valar gathered up her lustrous black hair in one hand and used it to pull her head back for his passionate kiss. The sub pushed her body eagerly against his. 

After a moment, Valar pulled her head back and away from his lips. She was breathing hard, eyes closed. The Dom let go of her hair and let her leash drop. Hooking a finger in the belt of her robe he removed it and the robe fell open. He began to slide the slinky material slowly down her naked body. 

Redgrass was still but for the rise and fall of her chest. When Valar revealed her breasts he paused. Holding the material gathered at her waist, he lowered his head to take one of her nipples lightly between his teeth. Redgrass shivered and gasped. Valar cupped her breast and pulled the little bud into his mouth, suckling it as his sub made little mewls of pleasure, arching into him. He let the robe slip to the ground in a satiny pool around her feet and put his hand between her legs, cupping her gently.

“Do you see how Valar is making this an event for Redgrass?” Madame Ellaria said from her place in the shadows. Her voice was low and warm, a barely intrusive commentary over the scene being played out. “He’s claiming her, undressing her, and in control, yet also insuring that she’s aroused, too. Now watch,”

Redgrass widened her stance and Valar pushed a finger into her cleft. He released her reddened nipple to watch as she began rocking against the finger he was caressing her with. 

“There’s my lovely girl,” he said, “Are you good and ready?” She only moaned in reply, so he shifted his hand and pushed two fingers up into her, “oh, you’re wet, sweetling; so wet.”

Sapphire tightened her fingers around Jaime’s and her breath hitched. Jaime tore his eyes away from the scene to look at her. She met his eyes and blushed; not just a pretty flushing on her cheeks, but an embarrassed ruddiness that ran all the way down her chest and disappeared beneath her low-cut black shirt. Jaime could tell she wore no bra. Her breasts were small, but her nipples were tantalizingly distinct beneath the soft fabric and he yearned to know how they would feel and taste with his mouth on them.

Knowing the time hadn’t yet come to do what he really wanted with her, he leaned forward and kissed her mouth instead, pulling her lower lip briefly between his teeth. Sapphire looked at him with undisguised desire as he pulled back. He was about to kiss her again when Madame Sand’s low voice intruded.

“Notice that the Dom is looking after his sub’s needs, and she is trying to entice him as well. Encounters with your Paramours may be spontaneous or planned, but it’s essential to have some understanding of what each person wants. Finding out these secrets is half the fun,” Madame Sand said, “And now I think Valar is going to demonstrate the ties.”

Valar walked around behind Redgrass and pressed himself to her bare behind, grasping her hip in one hand and using the other to bend her over at the waist. He picked up a set of red elbow cuffs from the table.

“Arms back,” he said, and the woman put her arms behind her. Valar grasped her wrists in one hand and raised her arms above her back, making her bend still further. He pressed his arousal against her bottom, and she responded by rising on her toes, prevented from toppling forward only by the Dom’s iron grip on her wrists. He secured the cloth cuffs around her upper arms. 

“Does a sweet girl like that?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” she sighed, wriggling her ass against him. 

He lowered her arms and she stood flat-footed again. Valar cupped her breasts to bring her upright against him, “Are you ready for me to bind your lovely cunt?”

“Please, Master, yes.” She pleaded. 

“Notice how he talks to her, gets her consent,” Madame Sand said, “Your play might not involve verbal cues, but if you are the Top you need to be sure you are paying attention to how your bottom is reacting to your ministrations. Some scenes can seem very ambiguous to observers, but there is always an understanding between the participants. The safe word or a predetermined physical sign is everyone’s assurance that all action will stop immediately if desired.”

Valar picked up a length of rope and began the process of tying it around Redgrass’s hips. When he threaded the rope between Redgrass’s thighs and settled it just inside the lips of her cunt Leo could feel Sapphire shifting beside him. He looked at her expecting to see arousal, but she looked a little alarmed instead. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispered.

“That looks…it looks _really_ uncomfortable,” she said under her breath.

“Redgrass seems to like it,” he said, and they both looked over to see the sub lost in pleasure as Valar kneeled before her, doing something else to the rope.

“Valar is tying a knot to ride on top of Redgrass’s clit. This is going be amazingly stimulating to her. I highly recommend this tie, alone or with a partner,” the Madame said.

Leo looked back at Sapphire to see if she was still concerned. She put her lips to his ear and whispered “You might want to pay attention to exactly how that goes; you wouldn’t want to get it wrong.”

Leo bit down a laugh, experiencing an odd combination of mirth and the aching of arousal too long denied. Whatever he’d pictured his first night at the club might be like, it bore no resemblance to the reality of experiencing it with such a remarkable woman at his side.

He nuzzled her ear and whispered back, “I’d probably need a bit of practice to get it just right. I’ll definitely need _your_ help.”

Sapphire chuckled and nodded. Leo was anxious to start their practice session, but the demonstration wasn’t over yet. 

Valar had helped Redgrass onto a chair with her bound arms over the backrest. He picked up a device from the table. It was about a foot long with a large gumdrop-shaped head and a long cord.

“What the fuck is that?” Jaime asked in surprise, “It looks like a power tool.”

“That’s a ‘magick wand,’ it’s a vibrator,” Brienne told him with a laugh.

“By the seven, I thought those things ran on batteries. He’s not going to put that whole thing in her, is he?”

“Uh, no,” Sapphire said as though it should be obvious.

Valar turned the wand on and even across the room they could hear the buzz of its motor. Redgrass spread her legs wide, arching her back. The Dom placed the vibrating head against the rope riding on her clit and she immediately cried out, her moans and whimpers of ecstasy rising and falling as Valar increased the pressure on the small knot he’d tied. Soon the young woman was writhing in the chair, her climax loud and frantic. 

Valar lowered the speed on the wand as she came down from her peak, finally shutting it off and laying it aside so that he could gather the exhausted woman in his arms and soothe her. He gently unclasped the arm cuffs and untied the rope. Scooped her up in his arms and carried her off-stage, murmuring to her the whole while.  

Madame Sand stepped back into the spotlight, “You saw earlier that we used orgasm control on Stormcrow, and gave him a specific count to come on. Some subs enjoy that, while others find being bound and stimulated quite erotic enough. Again, discover your and your partner’s preferences. There’s always more to learn in the erotic arena of Domination and submission.

“Please take five minutes to use the bathroom or mingle and then we’ll all meet in the Practice Room.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, commenting, and subscribing. If you would like to know more about the tie demonstrated in this chapter please see [this wiki article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crotch_rope).
> 
> Next chapter: The practice room from Brienne's point of view.


	6. The Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week ends with everyone trying out the bondage ties they've observed in the practice room.

“Please take five minutes to use the bathroom or mingle and then we’ll all meet in the Practice Room.”

Brienne stood up from the couch too fast and needed to steady herself with a hand on the armrest. Was it the heels she seldom wore, the whisky, or what she’d just seen and done that was making her feel unbalanced? Maybe it was Leo, standing up to steady her with a hand on her shoulder, his disarmingly sexy smile making her giddy.

“Are you all right?” he asked when she stepped back from him.

“Fine. I stood up too quickly,” she told him, “I think I’ll take Madame Sand’s advice and use the ladies room.” _That way you’ll have a chance to choose someone else if you want to_.

A flash of emotion on Leo’s face passed too quickly for her to analyze. She’d found his expressions surprisingly easy to read thus far, even with the mask. His eyes were usually very expressive, but now they were guarded and his smile was bland and unrevealing.

“Oh. Good idea,” He said, “Maybe I’ll do the same.” He bent to retrieve her whisky glass and hand it to her, “You don’t want to forget this.” Like any good whisky enthusiasts, they’d been savoring it slowly, and there was still a little left in their tumblers. 

Brienne took the glass, thanked him, and walked toward the restrooms. She wanted to look back, to see if he was going to the men’s restrooms or looking around for someone new to share the next experience with.

Margaery was waiting for her near the door, smiling like she was in possession of some especially juicy gossip. Brienne knew she was in for a lot of prying questions and congratulations. She was dreading it.

“Sapphire!” Marge squealed when she was close enough, reaching out to take Brienne’s hand and tug her out of the ballroom.

“I need to use the loo!” Brienne protested.

“I’m taking you to another one that isn’t as crowded,” Marge told her, “no need to stand around and wait. I need to hear every detail! I was so proud of you, Brie!”

“Proud of me?” Brienne said warily, knowing whatever her friend was proud of her for would inevitably be embarrassing.

“Gods be good, girl! The way you handled that challenge from the Madame? That was so hot!” 

“I can’t believe I did that,” Brienne said, “What in the seven hells was I thinking, Marge?”

“You’re just not used to the bold new Sapphire, sweetling,” Marge said, “But _Leo_ sure seemed to enjoy it. Seriously, Brie, the best looking guy in the room picked you out right away, and he’s totally into you. The student has surpassed the master!”

Margaery looked like she was going to do a set of cartwheels from her cheerleading days, and Brienne looked around nervously.

“Marge, please calm down! I’m not even sure he wants to be with me for practice. He didn’t say anything about it when I left. He’s probably chatting up someone else right now.”

“He’s not.”

“How can you know that? He probably thinks I’m slutty for what I did to Stormcrow. _I_ certainly do…”

Margaery laughed as she opened the door to the restroom she’d led them to, “It’s a sex club, Brienne, not a Sept Potluck. Besides, he watched you the whole time you were walking away. If anything, he’s worried _you’ll_ pick someone else.”

“Right,” Brienne said, rolling her eyes. 

The lounge Margaery had taken them to was tastefully opulent with marble sinks, cotton washcloths and framed mirrors. The ornate wooden doors on both large stalls were even tall enough to provide Brienne with some privacy. 

“So, who’d you pair up with?” Brienne asked from the stall, hoping to change the subject. She tugged down her leggings and underwear, wishing she’d brought a change of knickers. It hadn’t occurred to her she’d find the evening so arousing she’d need to worry about dampness. 

“Well, the first time I paired up with Sellsword. He’s been around, you know, but we’ve never been paramours. Still, one _hears_ he’s very experienced, and I mean that in a _good_ way. That went okay at first, but I think he got bored when I led Stormcrow around for so much of the first demonstration.”

Margaery paused, then started laughing, “I should totally have brought spare panties! I am so wet! I always forget that the first couple weeks when you don’t get laid you just spend time stewing in your own juices.”

“Ew, Marge! Too much information,” Brienne told her, pulling up her own damp pants and resolving never to share such a personal detail. The toilet flushed automatically and she left the stall.

“Well, anyway, at the break Kraken approached me, and since Sellsword had two women already hanging on him, I agreed to sit with him.” Marge joined Brienne at the sinks. 

“How’d that go?” Brienne asked, dropping her used washcloth in a wicker basket. 

“I’ve been with him a few times in past Seasons,” Marge said, checking her lipstick in the mirror, “he’s got a really impressive cock. But sitting with him tonight reminded me why I usually don’t go back to him. He’s a bit dim, which isn’t always a big issue, but he’s also really self-absorbed and can’t stop talking about his cock. Calls it “Reek” for some reason. _Not_ a turn on.”

“Reek?” Brienne asked, “Why would anyone…?”

“I think his cock is his alter ego or something. Whatever. Anyhow, I might pair up with Sellsword again, or try someone else for practice. I’m not in the mood to have Kraken pressing his tentacle against me, if you know what I mean.”

“He approached me for the first demonstration, but I’d already agreed to stay with Leo for the first two,” Brienne said, turning from side to side to check her outfit, making sure the tiny buttons on her blouse were all closed. “I can guarantee I’ll to stay away from Kraken, though. _Reek_ …”

“Oh, you might enjoy trying him out,” Marge said, taking her mask off and fluffing her hair, “he really is large, and if you’re the Top you can demand he not talk.”

“No thanks,” Brienne said, checking her mask to be sure her scar was completely covered.

“If I were you I wouldn’t let that Leo get away,” Marge sighed, her eyes dreamy, “That scene you guys did, when he slid your finger into his mouth and just looked at you like that… I think nearly every woman in the room wished she were you.”

Brienne wanted to argue that no one would want to be her, but instead she asked, “Looked at me like _what_?”

“Like he wanted to fuck you, obviously, but there was more to it,” Marge mused, leading Brienne out the door, “He just _looked_ at you. I was right there, remember. If anything, you both had the same intense look in your eyes.”

Brienne tried to imagine the scene from an outsider’s perspective, but failed. It was just too intimate and personal to step back from. Even being embarrassed about sucking Stormcrow’s cock in front of people couldn’t eclipse the memory of how it felt doing it in front of Leo, _for_ Leo in a way; to excite and show off for him. When he’d gotten down in front of her and claimed her hand…Marge was right, it had been intense. 

Brienne felt uneasy about returning to the ballroom. She should have taken the initiative and asked Leo if he wanted to stay together for practice. What if he’d picked someone else?

“Stand up straight,” Marge reminded her, “you’re slumping. Don’t start doubting yourself now, Sapphire, I know you’ve been having a good time and the best is yet to come!”

They crossed the threshold into the nearly empty ballroom.

“Oops, looks like we were in the lounge a little too long,” Margaery said “We’d better hurry to the practice room.”

There were some men and women still milling around, but Leo was nowhere to be seen. Aside from her attraction to the man, she’d quickly become comfortable with him. The thought of getting acquainted with someone different for practice made her nervous.

The men still in the ballroom looked appraisingly at the two women when they walked in. One of them left the small group he’d been talking with and walked toward them. Brienne recognized Crow in his beautiful black pewter mask with its detailed wings framing his big brown eyes. 

“Rose, Sapphire,” Crow said, giving them a slight bow, “Rose, if you’re not otherwise engaged I was hoping you’d join me for this practice?”

Marge shot Brienne a stricken look, worried about leaving her friend without a partner. Brienne kept her face impassive; she was used to her friend getting all the male attention, but the familiar ache of rejection was undeniable.

“Sapphire,” Crow said, looking up at her, “Leo asked that if I saw you to let you know he’s waiting for you inside. You might want to hurry; the lady sharks were circling.”

“Thank you, Crow,” Margaery said before Brienne could open her mouth, “Shall we all go in, then?”

Brienne nodded, relieved, and followed Marge and Crow in the Practice Room.

Leo was loitering by a table piled high with leather and cloth harnesses and cuffs. He was staring down into his whisky Tumblr as he swirled the last sip around and around the glass. An auburn-haired docent in an overflowing bustier was leaning on her hands, strategically keeping her cleavage and half-exposed areola in his line of sight. She was looking up at Leo, a questioning smile on her face. Even from the doorway Brienne could see the woman was lovely, the plain black mask doing nothing to disguise her large green eyes and sweeping lashes. Leo finally looked at the woman and said something, the dimples bracketing his mouth deepening as he smiled. The woman laughed and tossed her long curly hair. Her breasts jiggled with her movement and when she stood straight Brienne noticed her costume included tiny black underwear and garters holding up sheer silk stockings on her curvy legs.

The woman picked up a harness and was holding it out for Leo’s inspection when he looked up and saw Brienne standing in the doorway. The smile he’d given the docent was nothing to the way he grinned at Brienne; she could swear she heard a collective sigh of admiration from every woman in the room. 

Brienne’s answering smile was wider than she usually allowed herself. She felt almost faint with relief at seeing he’d waited for her. 

Margaery touched her hand in farewell and went with Crow to examine the goods at another table. Brienne barely noticed their departure as she walked toward Leo, her strides long and graceful on her four-inch heels.

Leo took the harness the busty redhead had been showing him and walked out to meet her halfway. 

“You had me worried,” he said, “I was kicking myself for not asking you to meet me in here. I was afraid you’d decided to accept a better offer.”

“And I had so many,” Brienne said, trying not to roll her eyes.

Leo seemed to miss her sarcasm, “I figured you would. I’m glad you decided to stay with me.”

Brienne stifled a laugh at his version of events. He looked sincere, and beneath his pleasure in seeing her he was relieved. His obvious interest in her was baffling. She almost wondered if there was something seriously wrong with this man to be so attracted to her when any woman in the room could be had for one of his smiles.

Leo held up the harness, “What do you think?”

Brienne took it and handed him her empty whisky tumbler to hold. She tried to shake out the complicated straps, but no matter how she held or turned it she couldn’t tell for certain how it was supposed to go. 

“For you or me?” she asked.

“For you, of course,” Leo said, “I mean, I suppose I could wear it, but without tits I’d look ludicrous.”

“You probably have more than I do,” Brienne said, trying to hand it back.

“I like what I see so far,” he told her, looking boldly at her chest. To Brienne’s embarrassment, her nipples hardened under his scrutiny, “Very much,” he added, smirking before he looked back up at her face, “This crisscrosses your chest and binds your arms behind you. You can pick something out for me, if you like.”

There was that smile again. Brienne got the feeling this man seldom heard the word “no” where women were concerned. He wasn’t going to hear it from her just yet, either.

“Okay, show me what they’ve got,” she agreed, and he led her back to the table, setting their empty glasses down on a sideboard along the way. 

“Hello, Leo,” the redhead purred at him, “Who’s you friend? Lots of hot new members this Season.”

“Sapphire,” Brienne said, holding out her hand.

“Oh, another gemstone! I’m Garnet,” the woman said, giving her a firm handshake. “What can I show you two? Something for Leo, perhaps?”

“Yes, I think so. What would you recommend?”

“Will you be wearing these on top of your clothes tonight, or are you going to be bold and strip?” Garnet asked.

“I…well, I believe we’ll still be clothed for tonight?” Brienne said, turning to look at Leo, “Or at least I am. How about you, Ser?”

Surprisingly, Leo blushed. 

“Um, yes, I’ll be a good boy and keep my pants on.”

“A shame,” Garnet said with a smile, “You two are keeping all the eye candy to yourselves. In that case we’ll save the really sexy harnesses for another time. What ties were you planning to practice?”

Leo and Brienne looked at each other, neither wanting to be the first to say. 

Leo gave in, telling Brienne “Other than the rig I already picked out, which you can wear over your clothes if you must, I’d really like to practice that crotch tie on you. I do seem to remember you suggesting earlier that I watch closely so I could get it just right.”

Brienne knew she was blushing at his words, but more than that, the idea that he would be running a rope between her legs, even over her clothes, was making her wet with anticipation. She felt her blood pulsing right where he would be tying that little knot…

Trying to sound worldlier than she felt, Brienne picked up a coiled length of rope from the table, “And I’d like to tie you up spread-eagled on the bed. What length of rope do you think I’ll need for that, Garnet?”

“We do have cuffs you could use. They’re much simpler, and safer for beginners.” Garnet said, reaching for a set.

“Oh, I’m very good with rope,” Brienne assured her, “I learned to sail quite young. I don’t think he’ll be getting loose from one of _my_ knots.”

Garnet and Leo laughed, though Leo’s laugh sounded a bit hoarse. 

“Okay, five lengths of fifteen foot rope, and a set of safety scissors,” Garnet said, bundling them up, “You’re required to have the scissors for any type of rope bondage, in case someone needs to be released quickly. I’m also giving you this chest harness for Leo; it’s just for looks, but maybe you can get him to take his shirt off and wear it.”

Brienne took the ropes and tucked them under her arm, then turned a questioning look on Leo when she accepted the harness.

“You’ll need to be _very_ convincing,” Leo said with a look that told her she need convince him of nothing at all.

“Have fun, kids!” Garnet said cheerfully. 

They thanked her and ventured farther into the room. Brienne saw now that it was divided into sections by gathered damask curtains down one long wall. Each section contained a wrought iron bed like the one in the ballroom and included a standing lamp and two straight back chairs. 

They chose one near the middle and laid the ropes and harnesses on the bed. 

“I guess the curtains are for privacy if we want it,” Leo said, fingering the thick fabric, “I'm pretty sure these are hand-woven. The mix of archaic and modern elements here keeps surprising me.” 

“Wouldn’t you love to see what this place was like in its heyday?” Brienne asked, “I doubt it started out as a bondage club, but I’ll bet there was plenty of intrigue and sex whatever it was used for.”

“History buff?” Leo asked with a smile.

“You could say that. Places like this always seem to carry an echo of their past. This looks like an old dining hall; can you imagine the conversations people had over dinner in here? What they ate, how they dressed…” she stopped, again feeling like she was rambling. He wasn't here to listen to her opinions on history, “I’m sorry; I’m a bit of a geek.”

“You’re really rather charming,” Leo told her seriously, “not at all what I was expecting when I signed up for this.”

“Oh, um, thank you. You know I’m sort of a sure thing for practice, right? You don’t have to flatter me.”

Leo didn’t reply, just narrowed his eyes and studied her like she was a mystery he intended to solve. 

“Did you see the stuff at the other end of this hall?” he asked when her silence went on too long, “It’s set up with St. Baelor’s crosses and sex swings. I saw something that looked like meat hooks, but I was afraid to get too close to those.”

“I didn’t notice, honestly.” She said, wondering if he wanted to try any of those things out. She’d seen the crosses online and they didn’t seem appealing. Sex swings, on the other hand…

“Maybe we’ll look later,” Leo suggested, “if you want to. I think practice is about to start, though.”

They heard Madame Sand’s amplified voice calling all participants to order. Stepping out of their section they saw her standing at the entrance to the row of curtained rooms. The other couples stepped into the aisle as well. Some had clearly gotten started early. Brienne saw several men and women in states of undress and wearing a variety of collars and harnesses.

“I’m sure you are all looking forward to the practice portion of the evening,” Madame Sand said, the tiny microphone she was wearing allowing the couples furthest away to hear. “Docents will be coming around as you practice, checking on everyone for safety, answering questions and making suggestions. Even if your curtains are closed for privacy, a docent may enter at any time. This is only true during the first two weeks, and is required as part of your training. You must be certified every Season, as you were informed when you signed up.”

She looked at the eager faces before her and spread her arms invitingly, “Enjoy yourselves, but most of all, help your partners to enjoy themselves. This is a long session, but time will pass very quickly. Take breaks or pick up new toys as needed. Remember the rules and play nicely.”

She bowed her head and the lights began to dim, eventually leaving the room nearly dark. People began to switch on their lamps and close their curtains.

Leo was closest to their lamp, so he pulled the cord twice, finding a light level that was intimate but not too dark. Brienne untied a curtain and made sure it was spread for maximum coverage, and then did the same for the adjacent one. Leo untied the one near him.

“Not feeling voyeuristic?” He asked.

“No, nor like being an exhibitionist,” Brienne admitted nervously, “What I did in the ballroom, I’ve never – “

“No? Maybe you got caught up in the moment, though it _was_ incredibly sexy, Sapphire. It was strange how I forgot we weren’t alone for a while. I can’t help but envy Stormcrow. He’ll never guess bananas had anything to do with it.”

Leo walked up to her. In the low light his lion mask blended with his golden hair and scruffy jawline, making him look dangerous and feline. Brienne was sure she’d never seen a sexier man; being wanted by him made her feel sexy too. He guided her head down with one hand in her hair and their lips met, opening to each other without hesitation, tongues caressing and probing, tasting of whisky and possibility. 

Brienne had never felt so thoroughly kissed before. Her experience had been that most men were sloppy and over-zealous kissers, thrusting their tongues in her mouth in search of the tonsils she no longer possessed. 

Leo’s kiss was slow and powerful, intuitively responding to and guiding her lips and tongue, leading her to a passion she never knew a kiss could evoke. Without separating they moved onto the bed, their legs becoming as active as their arms and hands; everywhere touching and pressing against each other, no barriers other than the thin fabric of their clothes.

Brienne moved her hand to rub along Leo’s cock as he rocked his hips against hers. He groaned and moved on top, grinding his hardness against her, making her writhe as he pressed himself against her clit over and over, teasing where she wanted a steady touch. When he cupped her breast through her shirt and ran a thumb over her nipple she nearly cried out, but she caught herself and only a low moan escaped.

Neither noticed as the curtain was pushed aside and Valar stepped into their space. He observed them for a few moments, before saying in his smooth voice, “A girl is enjoying foreplay, but a girl holds back.”

Brienne startled away from Leo, who had just begun kissing her neck. Leo was slower to respond, annoyed rather than embarrassed. He propped himself on his elbow and considered the docent, waiting for him to speak.

“A man comes to instruct, but finds nothing to teach. Now is the time for bondage practice.” He smirked, making his face appear strangely sinister, “A man can be patient, but expects to see more when he returns.”

He slipped out, the curtain barely moving as he did so.

Leo met Brienne’s eyes, and they both laughed. 

“What in all the hells was that?” Brienne said, “Do you think he skulks about like that in his day job?”

“Probably works in a movie theater, scaring the patrons necking in the furthest seats. Probably blinds them with his big flashlight and gives them his ‘A teenager must use contraception,’ speech.” Leo suggested.

“I suppose he’s right about us needing to practice, though,” Brienne said, her eyes sparkling, “’A man must be tied up.’ Shall I make it so?”

“You want to tie me first? I like your initiative, girl. Sorry – _woman_. Where do you want me?” he asked, settling on his back with his arms and legs spread, “I am yours to command, sweet Sapphire.”

The interruption from Valar hadn’t quelled his cock. The hard outline of it strained against his pants, and Brienne found herself wishing she hadn’t insisted they stay clothed. Though if he undressed, she would have to as well. 

“Before I tie you down, I think I’d like to see the harness Garnet picked out on you.” Brienne said, “But that shirt needs to come off first.”

She swung a leg over him and sat on his thighs so she could unbutton his shirt. As her long fingers undid each button she could feel his heart beat a little faster. She pushed the open shirt to either side and kissed his chest, trailing her lips through the dark hair until she came to one of his small hard nipples. She took it between her front teeth and bit down lightly. Leo shuddered in pleasure, and all at once she knew that if they became paramours she was going to enjoy making him do that – a lot.

“Sit up so we can put this on,” she said, holding up the harness. Leo slipped his shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Brienne put the harness over his head and adjusted the straps until it hugged his upper body, highlighting the cut of his pecs and abdomen. She sighed, “Beautiful…”

Leo grinned and tried to flip his hair, but was prevented by his mask. He got the reaction he was looking for when Brienne laughed at him.

“ _Now_ lay down,” she said, trying to inject authority into her voice.

“Yes, Madame,” he said, too teasingly. Well, she could try discipline on him another time if she wanted. 

She picked up the first rope and prepared her tie for his right wrist. It was different from the tie demonstrated earlier, but she knew this one would be secure and not tighten as he moved. She tied it to the headboard and asked him to test it. He pulled against it, his biceps bunching with effort, and she nodded, satisfied.

The left wrist was next, and the sight of his arms restrained above him refueled the arousal that Valar had startled away. She took her time with the ankle ties, spreading his legs wide, but not so much he would get uncomfortable. She looked at her handiwork, and then at Leo’s eyes darkening with lust and his chest moving strongly up and down. Leo was not only still aroused, but she could swear he’d gotten bigger and harder as she'd tied him. 

She’d never wanted a man like she wanted him then. She wanted to go down on him until he was gasping for release and then ride him hard until he came apart under her. Her thoughts must have shown in her face, because Leo bit down on his smile and rocked his hips invitingly. Gods, she hoped he would be her paramour when the time came.

“What now?” she asked, “I’d say we have the tying part nailed. Should I release you?”

“Hmm, _nailed_. I like the sound of that,” he said, “why don’t you climb on and test the bindings to be sure.”

Brienne straddled him, tilting her pelvis so that she was rubbing against the bulge in his pants. He thrust against her and she caught her breath at the contact. It wasn’t the first time she’d taken the top position in sex, far from it, but Margaery had been right: this was far more exciting. Whether it was the anonymity, the control, or just Leo’s amazing kissing, it was already better than the best sex she’d ever had. Not that her experiences were much to compare to, of course. She was always too self-conscious to really let go during sex.

She leaned over to tug on the rope holding Leo’s left arm, and he took the opportunity to put his mouth on her breast and suck her nipple into his mouth, shirt and all.  Brienne stilled, waiting for him to release her, but he only sucked harder, the sensation making itself felt in her throbbing clit as well.

“Oh gods,” she gasped, “you’re so…naughty.” She felt him stifle a laugh and fail, releasing her as he chuckled.

“Naughty? What am I, five? Why don’t you unbutton that shirt, or better yet, take it off and I’ll show you ‘naughty’.”

Brienne shook her head and sat back up, trying to distract him by moving with him as he thrust against her. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back, “Sapphire,” he breathed out “So good. I want to touch you…”

“A man may not touch when his Domme rides him thus,” Valar said. He’d slipped in again, unnoticed.

“A man wishes you would leave,” Leo said through clenched teeth. Brienne could tell he was straining not to come. Valar’s timing could be considered good or bad, depending on whether Leo wanted to spend the rest of the evening sticky.

Valar looked at the ties Brienne had made and nodded approvingly, “A girl might want to share this technique sometime,” he said.

“Uh, sure.” Brienne said. Leo had stopped moving beneath her, so she stilled as well and got off of him. He sighed, a combination of relief and disappointment. Brienne began untying him.

When he was free he sat up and rubbed his wrists. They were bright red from pulling against his restraints, but the skin was unbroken. 

“A man needs to observe you tying the girl,” Valar said, and Leo rolled his eyes at Brienne. “I will not stay long,” he added, sounding a little more human.

Leo got off the bed and picked up the harness from where it had fallen on the floor. He grinned at Brienne and held it up, “Come here, sweetling, it would seem it’s your turn.”

Brienne sent a dark look toward Valar, but came forward.  Leo put the harness over one shoulder and stretched it across Brienne’s chest to slip it up her other arm. He ran his hand over the straps between her breasts, and then brushed his fingertips over each nipple. The wet fabric clinging to the one he’d suckled rubbed against her tender skin, making it ache anew for the warmth of his mouth. _Not in front of Valar, though_.

“Put your arms behind you, Sapphire,” Leo whispered in her ear, and she did. He secured the straps on her upper arms, and she felt them biting into her flesh, just enough that she felt truly restrained. Coming around to the front again he tightened and adjusted the straps on her chest again. The position of her arms made her back arch, pushing her breasts up and out. Brienne was pleased that even to her critical eye they looked sexy. 

“Are you certain you won’t take your shirt off?” Leo asked hopefully.

Maybe if they’d been alone. _Maybe_. Brienne shook her head. 

“My loss,” Leo said cheerfully, picking up the final rope, “let’s see, I think this goes around your hips first –“ He folded the rope in half and held the loop just below her navel then brought the ends around and passed them through the loop and back over. 

Brienne was glad she was wearing pants. This tie had looked uncomfortable but arousing during the demonstration and the cloth barrier would probably lessen both feelings. Leo used the rope at her hips to lead her over by a chair, which he sat in facing her. Valar moved to get a better view

“Now, this step is crucial, right? I need to tie this little knot right at your clit. I bet it would help if you weren’t wearing pants,” he mused. To Brienne’s surprise, Leo ran his forefinger between her legs, pressing the fabric between her lips and following the line of her slit upward until she gasped softly. “There it is,” he said, and smiled up at her. Gods, but she’d do anything when he smiled at her like that. He replaced his finger with his thumb and rubbed it against her clit, watching her face and the rise and fall of her chest. He laughed under his breath, and put the knot in the rope. He pressed it against her and threaded the rest of the rope between her legs, snugging it as far up between her swollen lips as the pants would allow. He caught the end with one hand and moved behind her to run it firmly between her ass cheeks before looping and tying it at her hips.

Brienne had closed her eyes at some point, and stood teetering on her heels, lost in sensation and mortification. She heard Valar kneel in front of her to check the rope, and then felt him run his finger along the rope between her legs, checking for… well, _what_? She concentrated hard on not trembling as he finally tugged it from behind.

“A man knows what he’s doing,” the docent complimented Leo.

“A man was told to watch carefully,” Leo said, “and now a man would like some privacy with his sub.”

_Sub_? Oh, crap. Brienne opened her eyes to watch Valar slip out between curtains.

“Would you like to sit? Maybe lie on the bed?” Leo asked her, and then thought about what he’d said and told her firmly, “Lie down on your side on the bed.”

He took her elbow to guide her, every step making the rope rub against her already sensitive flesh. She got on the bed awkwardly and Leo looked down at her, his green eyes glinting. He lay down next to her and kissed her neck, sucking and biting lightly, working his way down. When he reached the low neckline of her shirt he swept his fingers inside, finding her nipples already hard for him. 

Brienne moaned as he rubbed one between his finger and thumb, arching her back in pleasure. The movement pulled the rope taut and she gasped and tried to lessen the pressure on her clit by curling forward. It had felt good, _too_ good. 

Without warning, Leo flicked open several of the small buttons on her shirt and opened it enough to expose her breasts. He didn’t wait to see if she would protest before lowering his head to one and flicking his tongue against it. Brienne twisted against her ropes again, pulling against her restraints, nearly thrusting her nipple into his mouth. Leo drew it in and continued swirling his tongue around it as he suckled. When he had her quivering, he let go, asking softly, “Is that okay? Do you want me to cover them back up?”

It was all she could do to shake her head. This hadn’t been part of the plan; she’d never expected to get so aroused on this first night, and with a stranger. Part of the problem was that Leo no longer seemed like a stranger, which made no sense. The pleasure he was giving her seemed too intense. She felt out of control, and she’d spent years building up those walls that kept her safe.

Leo took the other nipple into his mouth and put one hand on the rope and tugged it experimentally. When Brienne stifled another moan he put his fingers against the knot on her clit and rolled it against her, his pressure gentle but steady. He lifted his head from her breast and watched her, seeming to sense her struggle not to give in.

He pressed the knot harder, and was rewarded with an answering thrust of her hips. She was starting to tremble, her breathing uneven. Leo took a nipple between his teeth and bit it lightly before sucking it hard.

Brienne shut her eyes tight, and her head went back. Her legs and hips began to shake uncontrollably and she swallowed the moans trying to break free. She was coming, and there was no stopping it. Leo was relentless and she was too far gone.

With a rolling shudder she climaxed, clenching her teeth and trying not to fall too far or too fast.

She’d seldom allowed to herself to be this vulnerable with past lovers, and even when she’d been able to come, the orgasms were always shallow, fleeting. But this one was different. This came from a place deep within, strong and undeniable. If she hadn’t been guarding against it she knew she would have lost it, let her guard drop too far. 

Leo quickly unbuckled the straps binding her arms and removed her harness. He pulled her blouse back over her breasts and undid the simple knots of the crotch rope, removing it gently. 

Then he just held her, wrapping his strong arms around her, his body warm, comforting and safe. Trying to avoid the feathers of her mask, he kissed the top of Brienne's head and nuzzled her short hair. He was breathing hard enough to have been the one who’d just come.

Brienne couldn’t see his face, and in a way she was glad of it. He was clearly an experienced man, he must know she’d climaxed even though she’d tried to hide it. She should be uneasy, but all she wanted right then was what he was giving her.

“Sapphire,” he said huskily, “is it too early ask you to stay partnered with me next week? The whole night? I’ll understand if you’d rather try someone else…” The tone of his voice told her that he didn’t want her to do that, any more than she wanted to. 

“Yes, Leo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions! Your response to this has been overwhelming, and we so appreciate your continued support! Please continue to do so by leaving us a comment - we love those!
> 
> .


	7. Who She Is (when she's with me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night at the Sand Club ends with a goodbye kiss and Jaime drives home, alone with his memories of someone he can never know.
> 
> _This is a Jaime Point of View chapter. His car is based on[Steed's Jaguar XJ12](http://www.imcdb.org/vehicle_4123-Broadspeed-Jaguar-XJ12-C-1976.html) from the old Avenger's series._

“Yes, Leo.” Sapphire said against his throat, the words seeming to enter through his skin, the promise of another night with her filling him with something more than simple lust.

Jaime puzzled over it as he held her, reluctant to let her go even though the evening was drawing to a close and everyone would probably be looking for something new to try or someone new to meet. 

He knew he shouldn’t feel such a strong connection with someone he’d not only just met, but who was supposed to remain a stranger. Maybe that was the appeal of it though; wasn’t sex without strings what most men wanted? If he chose to, he could imagine Sapphire having any combination of traits he fancied and never have to worry if she’d measure up. He’d never be bored by vapid conversation or disappointed if she revealed herself as a shallow fortune-seeker.

After things had ended with Cersei he’d tried dating other women. He’d met a surprising number who were eager to be his lover, but he’d never wanted to get to know any of them better after a few weeks. The sex had been good – sex was _always_ good – but it wasn’t enough to keep his interest. Yes, perhaps he was feeling this deep satisfaction about tonight _because_ it was anonymous.

Sapphire shifted in his arms and he felt her sigh. Maybe she was also relieved that they needn’t get to know each other to enjoy what was certain to be really amazing sex. The thought made Jaime feel oddly bereft and he tightened his arms around her.

He felt her lips on his neck, warm and soft as she kissed him before trying to disentangle from his embrace. Jaime loosened his hold but left a hand resting on her hip. Sapphire held her mask against her face to keep it from moving as she scooted back to look at him.

“I think it’s getting late,” She said, “We’re supposed to keep whatever we use, aren’t we? The harnesses and ropes?”

“Yes; we can keep them here at the club in our personal lockers or take them home to play with,” Jaime told her, “Are you going to take your harness home with you?” _Do you have someone waiting at home who you’d let bind your arms behind you like I did? Someone to **want** you like I do?_

“Gods no,” Sapphire laughed shortly, and then realized she’d shared something too personal and abruptly closed her mouth, “What about you?”

“Oh, yes, the harness and the ropes, too, if you don’t want any of them until next week,” Jaime said seriously.

“Ah, I can just see it now. The selfies will be all over the internet within moments of your arrival at home. Tell me, does a man plan to use all five ropes _and_ the harness or will just the harness and one rope around your boy bits do the trick?” 

Jaime laughed; she’d not only caught his sarcasm but done him one better. Sapphire’s laugh and her toothy smile were becoming two of his favorite things. He leaned forward and kissed her, his leather mask brushing against her satiny feathered one.

He was about to kiss her again when a series of soft chimes sounded: the ten minute warning that participants should wrap up whatever they were doing. 

“Time’s about up,” Sapphire said, sitting up. She folded her legs easily into a cross-legged position, looking very young to Jaime. Just how old was she? Younger than him, he guessed, though her mask concealed too much of her face to really tell. 

“What would you like to do?” Jaime asked, “I think they leave the bar and the buffet open for about a half hour after the official end of the night.” 

“Let’s stay in here until final chime,” Sapphire said, “then maybe we can see if they have coffee and sweets. I imagine Rose won’t want to leave right away. She drove us here.”

Jaime nodded, glad they had a few more minutes alone, but unsure of what to do with the time. He wanted to pull Sapphire back down next to him, but quietly talking to her like this appealed to him as well.

“I enjoyed our time together, Leo,” she said.

“Me, too. I…I’m…I mean; I’ll be looking forward to next week. To seeing you, next week. Not just…”

“Awkward, isn’t it?” she rescued him.

“Very.”

“It’s okay, I feel the same way. Weirdest blind date _ever_.”

How did she do it, put him at ease like that? He was about to say something about what they might expect to see and do the next week when the final chime sounded. 

Sapphire unfolded her legs and got off the bed. Jaime leaned back, looking up at her. He imagined how she’d look standing over him like that naked. Maybe not next week, but hopefully soon after that, and when the time came…

With a little smirk Sapphire held out her hand to him and he let her help him off the bed. He put his shirt back on, scooped up their gear and then held the curtain open for her. She kissed him as she passed by and he felt like a dopey teenager, strangely smitten and hormonal. 

He was glad she didn’t see how he was blushing. CEOs of major corporations with a reputation for being an asshole _did not_ blush because they got kissed by a girl they just met. _You just keep telling yourself that, Lannister_. 

At the end of the row employees were stationed to relieve guests of anything they wanted placed in their lockers. Garnet offered to take the ropes and harnesses from Jaime.

“Which of you wants the ropes in their locker?” she asked.

“We’ll be together next week,” Jaime said, “You can put it all in mine.”

“Oh, I like your commitment, Leo,” Garnet winked, “Is that okay with you, Sapphire?

“I think I can tolerate it, just barely,” Sapphire said, batting her eyes innocently. 

_Okay, now she’s just toying with me_. Jaime took her hand and they walked through the ballroom to the buffet table beyond the bar. Earlier in the night it had been laden with all manner of gourmet treats, but now tiny cakes, cookies and fresh fruit decorated the serving tiers. Two employees in tiny black aprons waited to pour coffee and dessert wines. 

“What’s your pleasure, my Lady?” Jaime asked. 

“I’d like coffee with cream, please,” she said to the male attendant. Jaime thought his apron looked undignified, but Sapphire was smiling at the muscular young man appreciatively. 

“May I help you, Ser?” the brunette server asked. She wore a red leather bra that made the most of her cleavage and a ruby in her belly button. A delicate snake tattoo curled up one arm, ending with the snake’s head circling her upper arm like a cuff. 

“That’s a beautiful tattoo,” Leo complimented her. 

The woman’s dark eyes slanted up when she smiled, “Thank you. Can I pour you something to drink?” 

“Coffee would be nice,” 

“Would you like anything in that? Cream? Sugar? A splash of Rum?” 

“Just black, thank you.” 

Sapphire took a sip from the cup the man gave her and made a little hum of appreciation. 

“Leo’s right; that is a gorgeous tattoo. What kind of snake is it?” She asked the woman pouring Leo’s drink. 

“It’s a Dornish Sand snake. My family’s sigil.” 

Jaime accepted his cup, nodded his thanks and turned to Sapphire, “Do you have any tattoos?” 

“Just one,” she said, stepping around him to select a square of cheesecake sprinkled with raspberries from the table. 

Jaime grabbed a plate with a dark chocolate mousse and followed as Sapphire headed to a couch, lagging behind some to enjoy watching her sexy stride. 

“What kind of tattoo?” he asked when he caught up. 

She was sitting on their previous couch, legs crossed and balancing the cheesecake on her knee as she sipped her coffee. 

“The usual kind.” 

Jaime sat next to her and set his coffee on the floor, “Where?” 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” She set her coffee down and put a raspberry in her mouth, “Do you?” 

“Want to find out? Very much.” That earned him a coy smile. _Was it next Thursday yet_? 

Sapphire plucked another raspberry from her cake and held it out. Jaime leaned forward and she put it between his lips. Her own lips were stained with the pink of the fruit and he was reminded of the luscious color of her nipples after he’d had his mouth on them. The berry was nice, but what he really wanted…  

“There you are!” Sapphire’s friend Rose sang out from across the room. 

She and Crow both looked tousled and well-pleased with themselves as they walked over to join them at the couch. Crow seemed a somber sort compared to Sapphire’s vivacious friend, and Jaime was curious about which one would take the dominant role in the bedroom.

“I called for my car already, Sapphire,” Rose said, “I’m afraid it’ll be here in just a few minutes.” 

“Oh. I should finish up then,” Sapphire said, a hint of regret in her voice. She ate the little cheesecake in one bite, took another drink of her coffee and stood. 

Jaime set his mousse down and stood also, “I’ll walk you out,” he offered. 

They’d just reached the lobby when a valet approached Rose to let her know their car was waiting outside. 

As Rose and Crow exchanged a heated goodbye kiss, Jaime turned to Sapphire, “Can I kiss you goodnight?” _Can I have your number? I’ll call you. I had fun. Don’t go yet_. 

“Yes,” Sapphire said, and let him pull her into a brief kiss. 

Then she walked out the door. 

Jaime requested his car and stood waiting in the lobby with Crow, disinclined to return to the ballroom. 

“How’d you like your first night?” Crow asked. 

“It was rather unexpected, but I enjoyed it,” inadequate words for an experience he’d never forget. 

“You make plans with the tall one for next week?” 

“Sapphire,” Jaime said, enjoying the sound of the name, “Yes, we’ll be together next week.” 

“That’ll disappoint more than one man who was here tonight,” Crow said lightly. 

“They’ll learn to live with it,” Jaime said, trying and failing to keep the hint of aggression out of his voice. _Sapphire wouldn’t want to be with this pup, would she? Though if she wants to be a Domme, maybe this beta male would appeal to her. If she decides to be a sub_ …Jaime pictured her with Crow and shook his head, scowling, to dislodge the image. _No_.  

“Hey, just saying,” Crow smiled, holding up his hands “I think she’s into you, dude, but I've been coming here a few seasons. Don’t take it for granted is all I’m saying. People switch things up a lot.” 

The valet approached to tell Jaime his car was ready. 

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll remember that,” He said to Crow, “’Night.” He walked out the door. 

His vintage green Shadowcat was purring out front and he lowered himself into the car for the long drive home. Tipping was not permitted within the club, though Jaime practically itched to toss the attendant a few silvers. In the world of privilege and wealth he normally occupied he was used to hands always being out. It was a relief to be able to escape that for a few hours. 

As he left the lights of the mansion behind, Jaime took off his mask and tossed it on the passenger seat before cranking down the windows and turning up the music. Sigur Rós’s _Med Sud I Eyrum_ enveloped him as he drove down the winding hill. His headlights cut through the darkness around him; he wanted to test the road’s curves, but he kept the car to a low gear, watching for the wildlife that was known to traverse the hills here. A few times he saw eyes shining in the darkness. Rabbits, deer, perhaps wild cats...difficult to tell as he passed. 

Once he reached the sea road, he gunned the engine, letting it build momentum before he opened it up and sped down the highway toward home, letting the wind whip through his open windows. 

The remembered sensations of the evening made his heart pound. His cock was already hard, had been for the entire drive, and for most of the evening. He should be aching with frustration, but mostly he just felt exhilarated, excited about the future and satisfied on some level that went beyond the need for physical release; he could deal with that when he got home.  

Tonight he’d walked into that ballroom feeling self-conscious and out of place. His initial excitement after meeting Ellaria earlier and reading the materials she’d given him had nearly disappeared by the time Rose appeared at his elbow, smiling and inviting him to join her group. He didn’t know how he’d missed seeing Sapphire when he’d arrived, because she certainly stood out in a room where everyone seemed be calling attention to themselves.

_Sapphire_...from the first moment he met her she’d been self-contained, yet warm. He’d immediately sensed something in her that was innocent and world-weary at the same time. Sure, he’d been attracted to her height, her figure, the pure physical _presence_ she probably didn’t even realize she had, but the room had been full of sexy women. Jaime couldn’t say why he’d known immediately that he wanted her next to him, but he had.

The whisky, the banter, sitting together watching Stormcrow submit to being tied up and then paraded around and fondled; Jaime knew they’d both been turned on by it. But when that sub had been brought to them and Sapphire got on her knees in front of him – Jaime realized now how she’d pushed her own boundaries, only giving head in public because she wanted to excite _him_. He’d wanted her before that, but the eroticism of that moment between them had stoked his desire to a white heat that still hadn’t cooled.

Jaime took one hand off the wheel to rub himself though his pants as he drove. _Thank the seven I’m close to home_ – if he had to wait much longer he’d probably be unzipping here in the car, and with his luck be caught on a traffic cam. 

He took his exit off the highway and drove through the familiar streets leading to his house. It was well past midnight and his conservative neighbors were likely all abed, watching the latest Varys Report on the telly or rutting under the covers together, trying to pretend the spark of attraction was still there – and for some, it could be. Love lasted for some people, didn’t it? 

Jaime pulled up the drive to his old Targaryen-era house, the unfashionable turrets and arches of a bygone age still pleasing to him. The unfinished garage with his project cars was an eyesore that annoyed the neighbors, making it all the more appealing.

He parked the Shadowcat in front and went inside. He threw his keys on a table in the foyer and kicked off his shoes before going up the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. By the time he walked into the master bedroom his pants were undone and he pulled them and his underwear off together. He almost left his socks on in his hurry for some relief, but quickly stripped them off as well. He wanted to be naked as his name day when he touched himself and fantasized about _her_.

Jaime turned off the overhead light and got on his bed. He had no trouble recalling the thread of thoughts and images that had nearly undone him in the car.  

Sapphire, her mouth around a cock he'd wished was his…he remembered the way their eyes had locked, and how when he’d taken her finger into his mouth and sucked on it she’d moaned. He recalled how boldly she’d looked down at the bulge of his erection. 

Jaime groaned at the idea she might someday do for him what she'd done to Stormcrow; swirl her tongue around the head of his cock and then take him deep in her mouth, sucking him while she slid her lips up and down his shaft… _not in front of an audience, of course_...

The sudden, hard twitch of his cock in his hand when he imagined it surprised him. Surely he didn’t want something so private to be witnessed by a room full of people, people who would in turn be aroused by watching them? 

_Gods, the idea was unbearably erotic_. 

How would it feel going down on Sapphire in front of people? Burying his head between her thighs, using his tongue and fingers on her until she overcame her inhibitions, until she cried out and came hard for him, despite the audience, even partly _because_ of the audience…the image of her with her head thrown back, shaking beneath his mouth as she gasped his name, calling out _Jaime_ , sent him over the edge himself, her name on his lips as he came... _Sapphire_. 

Afterwards he lay there, letting his breathing slow as his cock softened, thinking of the woman whose name he’d called. Except it wasn’t her name, not really. It didn’t really matter, did it? It was who she was when she was with him. 

Jaime remembered the feel of her skin, her lips on his, the taste of whisky on her tongue, the way her nipples tightened between his fingers and in his mouth when she’d been tied up, his to please. Strangely, she’d tried to hide how excited she was, had held back as much as she could when he’d rubbed the rope over her clit and suckled her. Her obvious reluctance to let herself climax had challenged him, made him want to push her boundaries and give her what she tried so hard to deny herself. 

Jaime couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hold themselves back from that kind of pleasure.

Cersei had never denied herself any pleasure when they’d still been lovers. She’d not only sought the release he could give her; she’d demanded it. Always so eager to be satisfied in bed even though she never could be when she was out of it. He had willingly given her everything he had, done anything he could think of to make her happy. That was Cersei, though: taking, absorbing, radiant with the power of his desire for her. Sometimes he still missed it, more fool he.

The other women he’d bedded after Cersei hadn’t held back their pleasure either, though they’d been nothing like Cersei. They seemed to expect so little in return for what they offered him in bed, and been gratified and surprised by how much he was willing to give and do to satisfy them. 

Cersei had never been so eager to please him; giving only so much as needed, hoarding whatever he wanted as a reward, an enticement, or a price to be paid. Oh, she knew all of the things that turned him on and turned his knees to jelly, even after he knew her heart had turned to stone. She knew all of his secret desires and needs…at least she _did_.

Jaime got under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin and pondering why he’d felt the need to spoil his mood by thinking of his former lover. He turned onto his side and pulled one of the big, soft pillows against his chest, letting his eyes drop closed. It was late, and he was utterly spent. Unbidden, he recalled how he’d held Sapphire earlier in the evening, how her trembling had eased and her warm body had relaxed against him… 

_Was it Thursday yet_? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up we'll have Brienne's thoughts and actions after she leaves the club.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left us comments and kudos and otherwise given us love over this fiction. You warm our hearts. We'll continue to do our best to keep it hot and keep it updated.
> 
> To those who just don't like this fic: really, it's _not_ going to get better for you. Stop reading while you're ahead. We're okay with that. You should be, too. We still love you!
> 
> Again, you can email nurdles@jaimelovesbrienne.com or Almost at lizie@jaimelovesbrienne.com. We're both on tumblr as well. 
> 
> Aaaand - one more disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, _fanfiction_. It's here for your enjoyment and entertainment. It is not a guide to BDSM, and if you should decide to venture into that world we in no way guarantee you'll meet up with someone like Leo. If we could guarantee that do you think we'd be sitting here telling you about it?


	8. Westerosi Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know how pouty Crow always looks? Like someone kicked his puppy?” Brienne nodded, the man did seem rather serious. Marge smiled widely, “He had a lovely smile, really, once he stopped moaning and shuddering.” 
> 
>  
> 
> _Time for some girl talk and margaritas with Brienne and Margaery (and Grumkin)._

Brienne stood staring at the dust motes lit by the late afternoon sun coming in her kitchen window. She blew into it lightly to make it swirl like snow and then looked down at Grumkin.

“This is partly your fault, you manky old thing,” she said.

“Murrow” Grumkin answered, blinking up at her. 

“See these here?” Brienne pointed at the dust, “that one there is definitely a black cat hair. I bet if I put this under the scope we’d find out that you’re responsible for a good eighty percent of the dust in this house. That’s a lot for someone of your size.”

The cat blinked at her again, his gooseberry green eyes pale in the sunlight, pupils a thin wedge. He was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor to catch the light coming in from the window and Brienne had already trod on the tip of his tail once and nearly tripped over him twice. 

“Margaery is going to be here any minute,” Brienne said, settling the blender into its base, “You’ll be a good lad and not snag her nylons this time?” 

Grumkin flopped onto his side and stretched, extending his paws and flexing them to show his sharp little claws.

“You’re right, of course, why would anyone wear nylons on such a nice day? Maybe she’ll be wearing jeans.” Brienne got the tequila and Cointreau from her liquor cabinet, looked wistfully at the line of whisky bottles and closed the door. Marge seldom drank whisky, often comparing it to rubbing alcohol or worse (liquefied ear wax was a memorable comparison), though she’d had some at the club two nights ago. It was a nice gesture, sharing Brienne’s favorite drink on her inaugural night. 

Brienne had learned not to offer whisky to Marge when she visited because seeing her put ice and cola in it always broke her heart. _One simply does not mix whiskey, ever_ , she heard her father’s voice in her head and smiled.

Pouring the tequila, an extravagantly expensive Highland Extra Añejo that Brienne had picked out and Marge had purchased, Brienne let her thoughts wander to whisky and Leo, as they had been wont to do since Thursday night. Oddly, she could almost taste that cask strength whisky on her tongue, but it smelled of tequila… _Oops – that will be a little strong_. She put the stopper back in the tequila and looked at the golden liquid in the pitcher. _Guess Marge will just be extra silly tonight_. She shrugged and poured in a slightly smaller amount of Cointreau. She tipped in some lime juice she’d squeezed earlier and put the lid on to await her friend’s arrival. 

She rubbed a wedge of lime over the rim of two glasses and then dipped them one at a time into the dish of sea salt, a _fleur de sel_ that she kept just for their margaritas. Brienne wondered if Leo ever drank margaritas, or if he was strictly a whisky man. 

Unstoppering the tequila again, she poured a generous measure in a cocktail shaker, followed by the Cointreau and lime juice. She got cracked ice from the freezer and put some in her glass and some in the shaker. Marge might drink her margaritas blended, but Brienne preferred hers shaken. You really couldn’t appreciate fine tequila if your tongue was frozen by the slush. 

_If Leo does drink margaritas I bet he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking one blended_. Brienne shook her head and strained the drink into her glass, _I really need to stop obsessing on the man_. She was just putting a wedge of lime on the edge when she heard her front door open. 

“Brie?” 

“In the kitchen,” 

Marge walked in carrying a bundle of flowers. 

“You were about to start without me, weren’t you?” she said, setting the flowers on the counter. 

“I was. I knew you wouldn’t mind. What brings you here on time for a change?” 

Marge picked a vase out from a cupboard and filled it from the faucet, “Oh, you know – _suspense_. You’ve been promising me details for days and I just couldn’t wait another minute.” She set the flowers on the window sill, where they glowed in the sun, rainbows sparkling from the crystal vase. “The ocean is lovely today, isn’t it?” she said, looking out the window and past the other houses partially blocking the view. 

“It is,” Brienne agreed, “but I always think so. Your drink will be right up.” She took the lid off the blender, got a double handful of ice and dumped it in. Margaery stooped to pet Grumkin while the blender whirred away. She was wearing jeans, thankfully. 

Brienne filled Marge’s glass from the pitcher and they carried their drinks into the living room. It was nice enough out to sit on the patio, but Brienne didn’t want her neighbors to overhear them talking about the club. 

Both women settled into big overstuffed suede chairs. Marge like to call them snuggle seats; too small to be a loveseat, but just right for curling up in to talk or watch movies. 

Brienne had been looking forward to talking to her friend about the club; though she worried the conversation might stray into uncomfortably personal territory. They’d chattered all the way home from the club, but the half hour drive had barely been enough time for Marge to confirm that Brienne had enjoyed herself and that Leo had asked her to partner with him for the second week. To stop her from asking too many questions before she was ready to talk about it, Brienne had asked for details on the next Thursday’s practice and almost wished she hadn’t. 

“So,” Brienne said when they’d both settled in their chairs, she with her legs dangling over the armrest and Marge curled up with her legs tucked under her, “Tell me all about Crow.” 

“Oh no you don’t!” Margaery laughed, “You are going to tell me all about your evening and Leo first. Leave nothing out.” 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Brienne said, “You know most of it anyway.” 

“I don’t know what happened at practice. I also want to hear what you thought of everything. Wasn’t the castle grand? Was it as weird going into the club as you worried it would be?” 

“Weirder. It was surreal, Marge. You may be used to it, but walking in and seeing the bartender in that tiny costume…” 

“You know you loved it!” 

“It was distracting,” Brienne said, taking a drink. 

Marge laughed, “In just the way we like to be distracted. I saw you staring at his package.” 

“That’s what I said: _distracting_.” 

“And you caused quite the distraction yourself. I knew you would. How’d it feel, being looked at like that, knowing every man in the room wanted you?” 

“I’m sure not every man – “ 

“Yes, every man. It’s like I’ve told you; when you’re confident men notice. Of course, your never-ending legs might have helped.” 

“It was pretty amazing once I accepted it. The mask really made a difference.” 

“Only because it made you less self-conscious.” 

“Oh, come on Marge. You know that with my scar showing I’d never have gotten all that attention.” 

“Brie, you’re a beautiful woman. You’re the one who gives that mark such a powerful role in how you feel about yourself. I’m sure if you behaved as confidently outside the club you’d have guys falling all over themselves for you.” 

“Oh please, Marge,” Brienne rolled her eyes, “You know even without the scar that I’ve never been pretty. Combine that with how tall I am and –“ 

“Oh, Brie, you’ll never see yourself like I see you.” Marge said, “Are the nachos ready yet? I’m starving and this drink is going straight to my head. Did you make it stronger than normal?” She set down her drink and uncurled herself from the chair to go to the kitchen, “You just can’t see yourself like the people in that room saw you. Your long legs in those fuck-me-now pumps, your great ass; you were hot, sweetling 

Brienne followed her to the kitchen to finish making their snack. A pleasant buzz ran through her when she stood, “If I was, as you say, ‘hot’, it’s still because of the mask hiding my flaws.” 

“What am I going to do with you? Things are different in the club. Yes, being sexually desirable is a certain draw, but there’s more to it than that with the role-playing we do. I’m sure Leo saw there was more to you than your smokin’ bod.” 

“A man like him would never look twice at me in the real world.” 

Marge leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Brienne put the prepared plate of nachos in the oven to melt the cheese, “I’m not convinced, but let’s say he wouldn’t be interested if he ran into you at the market or out for a jog; he found you interesting enough at the club. Once he spent time with you he not only stayed with you all evening, he even asked you to be with him next time. He’s intrigued.” 

Brienne smiled, thinking of Leo holding her and asking if she would stay with him the next week, “I guess so,” she said, trying not to sound as pleased as she felt, “but he could just be used to me now and not want to bother changing partners.” 

When the nachos were done Brienne took it out to the living room. She set the tray on a table between them and pushed Grumkin out of her chair. Grumkin leapt up onto Marge’s lap. 

“He's used to you, Brie?” Marge laughed, “That sounds like a good excuse for a man to move on, not to want more. Of course, that blow job you gave Storm was pretty damn impressive.” 

“Oh, gods, Marge, I’ve been so mortified about that ever since! He was a complete stranger, and people were watching. I don’t know what got into me.” 

“I think it was a case of what, or _who_ , you wanted to get into you,” Marge snorted, obviously feeling her drink. “But really, hon, does it bother you that much? Can you tell me putting your mouth around that big cock in front of everyone and making Storm practically pass out from pleasure wasn’t exciting?” 

“It just wasn’t something I would have expected of myself, ever. But after I saw what that woman with the big boobs did I wanted to show off a little myself. I got carried away; it all seemed somehow normal, with everyone in the room touching and all the nudity and the sexy atmosphere.” 

“You wanted to show off – for Leo.” 

“Well, yes.” Brienne admitted, “I can’t believe I gave some random guy a BJ in order to impress a stranger…” 

“Oh, wake up and smell the pheromones, Brie! You wanted Leo to know what you could do, and it worked. When he got on the floor with you I think everyone in the room came a little. I saw the bulge in his pants – he was into what you were doing.” 

Brienne sighed and leaned her head back. It was undeniably arousing to remember him sucking on her finger and staring into her eyes, “Oh, Marge, he was just…unforgettable. I can’t stop thinking about him and about next week. I think I’m in lust.” 

“Nothing wrong with that. So you’re okay with not trying out someone else next week? There were a lot of interesting men there. I saw some new guys I’d like to spend time with.” 

“I know it’s silly and really, really unrealistic, but there was something about him…there was _a lot_ about him that appealed to me.” 

“And why not? Even masked you could see he was handsome, well-built, killer smile, the works.” 

“Had he been less attractive I’d still want to be with him. I’d probably be more comfortable with wanting him as much as I do.” Brienne wondered if Marge could understand the deeper connection she felt with Leo; she barely understood it herself. Maybe just being new at this it was easy to fall for the first man you shared the experience with. 

“Tell me about the practice,” Marge said, “If you’re getting as drunk as I am you won’t mind giving me a blow-by-blow account.” 

Brienne groaned, “You tell me about Crow first.” 

“Such a tease!” Marge said, “I’m warning you; you better give me all the juicy details when it’s your turn.” 

“I’ll try. Go on.” 

“I’ve seen Crow around for a while, you know, but he’s mostly been with Wildling. They always seem to have a love/hate relationship the way they bicker when they’re out of the bedroom. But they did a public scene last season that made them both very sought after,” 

“A scene is where you do something for an audience? Like play-acting?” 

“Sort of. A little like improv, but lots sexier. Crow was the Dom, wearing nothing but very tight trousers, and she was wearing a weird fur loincloth and her hair was all tangled. They were playing it like she was some feral sex kitten, and fighting him all the way. He took the long strip of fur that was binding her tits and used it to tie her arms to the headboard. Then he used a spreader, that’s like a bar that keeps someone from closing their legs.” Marge swallowed the last of her drink and set it aside, “Once he had her restrained he actually ripped the loincloth off with his teeth and went down on her. I was sure the way she was moaning and screaming and bucking against him that it was all part of the show.” 

“It wasn’t?” Brienne asked, eyes wide. 

“Oh, hells no. After he tied me up in practice the other night I had a hard time not screaming myself,” Marge smiled at the memory, her eyes closed. 

“So he…?” 

“Did he ever. Brie, that man knows what he’s doing. He really gets into it, not just with his tongue, but the way he sucked my clit.  He made me come over and over,” 

Brienne swallowed the rest of her drink, embarrassed but turned on by her friend’s description. Few men she’d been with had much skill at going down on a woman, but even their clumsy and fleeting attempts were better than none. She’d fantasized about finding a man who really knew what the hell he was doing down there. 

“He’s really good, then?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. 

“The best. No wonder Wildling hoards him. Valar was so funny; he said, ‘A man with such a skill could hire himself out,’” 

“Gods be good, _Valar_ was there while Crow was doing that to you? He watched the whole thing?” 

“Yes, we asked him to stay. Don’t you think he’s sexy?” 

“Uh, Leo and I both thought he was a bit ridiculous with his ‘a man does this,’ stuff.” 

“Oh, Brienne, you have no idea! You know he’s a Dom, right? He’s legendary for his skill with subs. I bet he’s got a waiting list of women who want to be his sub.” 

“No…” Brienne laughed, shaking her head. 

“Oh, yes. But you know what my fantasy is? I want to be his Domme, restrain him and make him beg before I give him the most mind blowing orgasm of his life.” 

“Do you think he’d switch?” 

“Probably not, but I can dream, can’t I?” 

Brienne laughed, “Let me make us more drinks,” she got up and took Margaery’s glass. A second strong margarita seemed like a good idea. Marge could sleep in the guest bedroom if she needed to. “Did you practice any ties on Crow or did he just _do_ you?” she called from the kitchen. 

“I trussed him up with ropes and made him lay with his head hanging back over the bed while I sucked his dick.” 

“Why over the bed?” 

“I wanted him disconcerted and light headed as I made all the blood rush to his cock,” Marge said, as casual as if she were discussing her latest shopping trip. 

“And, um, how’d that work out?” Brienne asked, carrying their drinks back to the living room. 

“You know how pouty Crow always looks? Like someone kicked his puppy?” Brienne nodded, the man did seem rather serious. Marge smiled widely, “He had a lovely smile, really, once he stopped moaning and shuddering.” 

“You sound rather proud of yourself.” Brienne said. 

“I owe it all to _Westerosi Woman_ and bananas,” Marge smirked. 

“I told Leo about the bananas,” Brienne ventured, waiting for her friend’s reaction. 

“No!” Marge shrieked with laughter. 

“I did. Like giving Stormcrow head wasn’t enough to make me seem like a loon.” 

“Gods, what did he say?” 

“He said he’d get aroused any time he saw banana bread after that.” 

Both women began laughing, and were soon gasping with mirth. 

“Please tell me you didn’t tell him about that article on using fruits and root vegetables as dildos,” Marge wheezed. 

“It’s not like we took that one seriously,” Brienne laughed. 

“Who says?” Marge whispered solemnly and then almost fell out of her chair laughing at her friend’s reaction. 

“You didn’t!” 

“No, I didn’t, but tell me that picture of the prickly pear didn’t give you nightmares.” 

“I’m still wrapping my head around goose gourds as g-spot stimulators.” 

With a plaintive “Murrow,” Grumkin leapt off Margaery’s lap, annoyed by all of the laughing and flailing. 

“By the way, did he see your tattoo?” 

“Of Grumkin? No.” 

“Not yet, you mean.” 

“Not yet,” Brienne smiled. 

“So tell me about your practice with Leo.” 

Brienne sighed. She’d been able to think of little else. At work she’d mislabeled three lab slides before she caught her mistake. It took a lot to make her lose focus when she was in the middle of an important study. 

“You know how I was worried about him going with someone else?” 

“Yes, and I was right that he didn’t.” 

“You were right, but the _smile_ he gave me when he saw me, Marge,” Brienne sighed, “I’ve never seen anything so sexy. It made me feel that he really _liked_ me.” 

“Of course he did. He more than liked you, he _wanted_ you,” Marge said. 

“I already knew he wanted me, Marge. But looking like he was interested in _me_ , that’s even better. We picked out harnesses and ropes and chose a bed. After we listened to Madame Sand and closed the curtains, he kissed me.” Brienne paused, feeling her head spin from the alcohol and the memory of Leo’s lips on hers, “The man can kiss. I didn’t even know a kiss could be so good. Margaery, I am so smitten. It’s awful!” 

“Uh oh. You’re usually not easily impressed Brie. Enjoy it, but remember he’s just a fling, okay?” 

“I know. Maybe it’s easy to feel this way because I’m aware it can never lead to anything. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

“Good girl. Now tell me about what happened after the kiss.” 

“We made out on the bed for a while, and then Valar came in and scolded us, so I tied Leo up spread-eagled on the bed.” 

“Was he naked? How was his cock?” Margaery asked, leaning forward. 

“He was wearing a chest harness and his pants. I didn’t see his cock.” 

“But you felt it?” 

Brienne rolled her eyes, “Yes, I felt it. I rode him for a bit, and then Valar snuck in and ruined the mood.” 

“Were you naked at least?” 

“Marge!” 

“What?” 

“No, I was still dressed. I was not going to be nude in front of Valar. Anyway, after _a man came in and ruined our fun_ I untied Leo and he put me in a chest and elbow harness.” 

“You at least took your shirt off.” 

“No.” 

“You’re hopeless.” 

“I know. Do you want to hear the rest or not?” 

“Go on,” Marge said. 

“Then he tied a crotch rope on me.” 

“Nice. Over your clothes no doubt. How’d he do?” 

“Valar praised his work,” 

“But did you?” 

Brienne took a deep breath, recalling how Leo had run his finger between her legs and up to her nub, making her react so he knew exactly where to tie the knot. And then Valar had checked the rope and gods help her, that had been sexy, too. “Yes, he was, um, very accurate. When Valar left he helped me to the bed and…” 

“Yes?” 

“And he kissed me and played with the rope and unbuttoned my shirt, okay?” 

“Yes? That all sounds like good stuff. How’d it feel?” 

“Oh, shit, Marge, it was too good. I wanted so badly to hold back. It was too soon.” 

“You came too soon?” Marge asked, disbelief tinging her voice, “Is that a problem?” 

“I mean I didn’t _want_ to come. I didn’t want to be that vulnerable with someone I’d just met.” 

Marge made a noise that was surprisingly coarse. 

“Seriously, Marge. The men I’ve been with, I just never can let go with them very easily. But Leo was…I don’t know, maybe it was everything combined; being tied, the whole sex club vibe, but I couldn’t stop myself. He made me come and then he took off the rope and harness and held me.” Brienne felt the emotion all over again, the deep release, and the sweetness of Leo’s arms around her. His request that she be with him again. “It was overwhelming. I’ve never felt like that before. It was kind of awful in a way, knowing what it can feel like to be so cared for and that it’s all just a game. It wasn’t real.” 

“Why can’t it be real? It’s not like you faked the orgasm, or he faked holding you afterwards.” 

“I guess it’s sad knowing I’ll never find that in real life. I’m just being silly, I know. The whole reason for doing this is to have that kind of pleasure, right? To pretend to be someone or something else.” 

Were you pretending?"

She shook her head. She'd been more herself with Leo that night than she was with most people. Had he been faking? Pretending to be the kind of man who appreciated a good whiskey, had a sense of humor and made her heart beat faster when he looked in her eyes? Absurdly, she felt as though she wanted to cry. She must really be drunk.

"Brie, you just have a little crush, that's all. It's normal. Probably you'll find the next member you partner with just as compelling."

"You're right, of course," Brienne said, trying to smile.

"Besides, anyone would look good next to your last boyfriend."

"Hyle wasn't my boyfriend."

"Your last booty call, then."

Brienne laughed, "And what a booty call he was. All talk and no finesse. I had a voicemail from him the other day.”

“Ew. What did he want?”

“He didn’t say, but I think we can guess.”

“You know you can still sleep with other people outside the club, right? Just try not to catch anything you can’t throw back. The club’s treatments are rapid but not especially pleasant, and if you test positive too close to a club night they suspend you for the week.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brienne said, “Do you think a lot of members have sex outside the club?”

“Probably. I’m pretty sure Sellsword is married.”

“How do you figure?”

“A tan line where he’d normally wear a wedding band.”

“Oh.” _Is Leo married_? She tried to picture his hands, but couldn’t recall any details. _If he is married, I suppose my heart is safe; I could never fall for a married man, especially one who would actively seek sex with strangers_. 

“So what are you wearing next Thursday?” Margaery asked brightly, “Because I have a terrific idea.”

“I haven’t really thought about it yet,” Brienne admitted. 

“You realize you’re expected to strip down more, don’t you? Things only get more intimate from here on out.”

“I suppose. What are you going to wear?”

“I’m going shopping, and you’re coming with me.”

“Why?”

“Brie, I know you probably have nice lingerie, but is any of it sexy?”

“I’m wearing black underwear. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“What are they made of?”

“What are they...? Oh. Cotton.”

“Exactly. If the fabric breathes it stays in the drawer on Thursdays.”

Brienne hadn’t thought much about what she wore under her clothes, believing that if her underthings were clean and well-made it was good enough. She just didn’t think men should judge her on what she wore if she was going to sleep with them; it wasn’t like whatever she chose was going to be seen for long. How pointless to wrap herself up in a man’s idea of what was appealing; it played right into having to pretend to be someone she wasn’t; dainty, flirty, _pretty_.

Yet now the idea of wearing something sexy seemed more acceptable and even exciting. The outfits she’d seen club workers wear enhanced the aura of desirability surrounding them. Maybe they even felt more seductive to wear all of that leather and lace and satin. The harness Leo had put her in had made even her small breasts seem sexy and enticing.  The gods knew Leo was unbearably erotic in his harness. Would he wear some kind of male…what does one call lingerie for men? Men’s furnishings? No, that sounded like a little couch to go with his pillar and stones. 

“You know what? I’d love to go with you,” Brienne told her friend, blushing just a little at the idea of looking at intimate apparel with Marge. She’d never gone shopping for pretty lingerie before. Raised by her father, she was given a clothing allowance and then dropped off at Clapton’s department store, where she bought whatever seemed the most utilitarian. She’d been raised to look for quality in all things, so she spent a good deal more time examining stitching than looking for what was fashionable or looked good on her. 

At Univsersity she and Marge had often gone shopping together, and she’d submitted to her pal’s suggestions and advice on finding better fitting clothes that matched her notions of modesty and quality. The results were usually good, but she always dreaded the process. This would probably be even more uncomfortable, with Margaery invading her fitting room, trying to convince her that she looked nice while Brienne refused to believe it. 

_Thank the gods for Margaery_ , she thought wryly.

“By the seven, are you blushing? Really? I’ve seen you go down on Stormcrow in front of people and you’re blushing because I invited you to buy panties with me? Bri, you’re such a sweet summer child.” Margaery laughed.

“Hey, I’m still… _shy_ about certain things.”

“Oral sex not being one of them.” Margaery teased her. 

“I promise you, that’s never going to happen again.” 

“What, no more oral sex for you?”

Brienne tossed a cheesy chip at Marge, “You know what I mean. I’m going to be the picture of decorum after this.”

“That would be a shame. But speaking of oral sex…”

“Please stop saying ‘oral sex’ you sound like a guest lecturer in that human sexuality class we took together.”

“Okay, speaking of cunnilingus…”

“Oral sex it is.”

Marge laughed, “Speaking of _that,_ you really must give Crow a chance. He’ll spoil you for anyone else going down on you, ever.”

“Just what I need, to have higher expectations,” Brienne said drily, “Can we watch the movie now, or did you want to give me a lecture on fellatio as well? Maybe draw me a diagram to the frenulum?”

“Oh! Good idea – do you have any bananas?”

“You’re the worst.”

“I didn’t tell _my_ partner about practicing my BJ technique on an innocent fruit.”

“Okay, stop already. I’m going to start the movie now. ‘Sleepless in Sunspear’ okay? I know we’ve seen it before, but it seemed like a good night for a Rom-Com.”

“Sure. Fire away. There’s plenty of tequila left, right?”

“There is,” Brienne confirmed.

“And in the morning, we shop!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of another chapter! We hope you enjoyed it. Chapter 9 is almost completely finished and will be posted on Monday after the Game of Thrones finale, in case you need something to look forward to. 
> 
> Thank you again to all of our lovely commenters! I think you can tell that we love reading and responding to your comments. Please continue to comment and bookmark and tell your friends.


	9. Maiden, Mother & Crone's®

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne thought of stripping down to some lacy bit of frippery in front of Leo, and the now-familiar rush of arousal whenever her thoughts strayed to her perfect stranger was annoying. _I really need to get a grip! A grip on…stop it, Brie…_
> 
>  
> 
> _Margaery takes Brienne shopping for fancy lingerie, and Brienne can't get Leo out of her head no matter what she does._

Sunday dawned foggy but warm, though neither woman was awake to see it. After another margarita or two, Marge had settled into Brienne’s guest bedroom to sleep it off under a Stark Swan comforter. Brienne had gone into her room, pulled on an old nightshirt with faded images of cats leaping on clouds, and fallen into bed.

After “Sleepless in Sunspear” they’d watched its sort-of sequel, “You’ve Received a Raven.” Both were pure indulgent fluff, but they never failed to make both women shamelessly swoony. In real life, finding your perfect match accidentally but somehow not realizing it, never happened. That would be like Brienne falling for someone on the Whisky Lovers online group and then later realizing he was the obnoxious man working just one microscope over. That would make him her toady co-worker Randyll, an older man who felt women couldn’t possibly be competent scientists. Lots of people on the Whisky Lovers board were absolute prigs, but Tarly was definitely a fermented mare’s milk and pork rinds kind of guy.

What if Leo belonged to the Whisky Lovers list? That would be too ironic. Its members came from all seven kingdoms and beyond, and judging from their stilted pomposity, Brienne suspected most were older men. She posted under the user name Whisky_Peat and suspected not one of the other users guessed she was a woman in her 20’s. No doubt a handsome, well-off man like Leo had better things to do in the wee hours than get into a spirited discussion over single versus double barrel whisky. 

Grumkin curled up on the pillow next to Brienne and she draped an arm over him. She stroked his soft fur, admiring the intricate pattern of black and white on his face. He reached out a soft paw and laid it on her scar, purring. Cats never judged. When you got right down to it, Brienne thought, Grumkin was the only male she really needed in her life. All the same, her last thought before she fell asleep was of another male looking very feline in his lion mask and dark gold hair.

Brienne was up before Margaery, brewing coffee and reading her MyFace feed to see if there was anything she’d missed lately. She hadn’t the patience to sort through the various posts featuring pictures of everyone else’s morning coffee or of their homely babies, so she switched to the Whisky Lovers board and checked to see if anyone had replied to her post about whether pre-Targaryen era whisky production methods had to be more sophisticated than modern distilleries that used genetically-engineered barley. No one had.

Margaery, drawn by the scent of coffee, wandered out of the guest bedroom, hair mussed and her pixie face adorably perplexed about being awake and out of bed before noon. The gods had blessed her with perfect skin and delicate features; even hung over she looked like she belonged in the pages of a magazine.

“Coffee?” Brienne asked, pouring the Dornish roast into a cup already prepped with cream and cinnamon flavoring.

“Mmm,” Marge nodded, accepting the cup, “You’ve already showered? You must be excited about our shopping trip.”

“Oh, yes. Thrilled.” Brienne answered, running her hand through her short blond hair, “I don’t have to try anything on, do I?”

“Maybe not all of it, but yes, I expect you to try on a few things,” Marge said, “You’ll feel more confident buying some things if you see them on first. I’m going to shower, ‘kay?”

About an hour later, Marge drove them to one of the classier parts of town, to a store known for its premium prices and exclusive designs. Brienne hadn’t been to this store before, but she knew it was no Baelish’s of Braavos, with tacky tassels and crotch-less panties.

Her family had been nowhere near as wealthy as the Tyrell’s, but she hadn’t grown up poor. Most of her inheritance was tied up in long term investments, and when she did spend money it generally wasn’t on impulse. Surely buying some decent underthings wasn’t impulsive, right? 

She thought of stripping down to some lacy bit of frippery in front of Leo and the now familiar rush of arousal whenever her thoughts strayed to her perfect stranger was almost annoying _. I really need to get a grip! A grip on…stop it, Brie…_

Margaery turned the car over to a valet and the two women walked up to Maiden, Mother  & Crone’s®. The motto below their engraved sign read “For the Goddess in Every Woman.” Other than the planters full of colorful flowers flanking the door and the uniformed doorman, the outside of the store was quite austere.

Already feeling intimidated, Brienne followed Marge inside. The inside of the store was everything she dreaded about high-end clothing stores: elegant sales women on commission and tastefully arranged apparel that always seemed too pretty for someone of her height and homeliness, along with full-length mirrors that only reflected Brienne up to her neck.

“Miss Tyrell!” One of the clerks said cheerfully, coming forward to take Marge’s hands in hers, “How lovely to see you again!” She turned to look up at Brienne, “And you must be Miss Tarth. Welcome to M, M & C. May I get either of you coffee or wine?”

“Wine for us, I believe, Donyse. Thank you.”

“Do have a look around. I’ll be right back.”

When the woman had clicked away on her heels Brienne turned to her friend and hissed “How does she know my name?”

“Sweetling, I called and told them we were coming. I thought they might want to have some specialty items ready for you to try. Just any old corset isn’t going to fit your long torso.”

“Corset? No. Absolutely not.” Brienne recalled the bustier Garnet had worn at the club and reconsidered, “Okay, _maybe_. We’ll see.”

Marge walked over to a display of bras worn by headless mannequins, gesturing for Brienne to join her, “Open your mind, Brienne,” she said serenely and then chuckled, “and then later on you can open your legs!”

Brienne laughed, “You’re the worst.”

“I try. Now look at this one; it’s a push up type to give you more cleavage.” She picked up a black satin bra and held it out.

“I prefer the sapphire blue one there, and it rather goes with my club name, doesn’t it?”

Donyse returned with their wine, “Oh, that one would look gorgeous with your eyes, Miss Tarth.” She handed them glasses bearing the store logo and studied Brienne, looking her up and down intently, “Yes, I think a B-cup would be perfect.”

“I wear an A,” Brienne said sourly.

“You may _wear_ an A, dear, but it isn’t your true size. You’re making the least of your assets by wearing too small a cup. You want to enhance, not smoosh,” Donyse picked up the blue bra and matching panties, guessing Brienne’s size for those as well. “Now, if you’ll follow me I have some other items I’d like to show you based on Miss Tyrell’s suggestions.” 

While following the woman, a display of light pink and beige-colored lingerie caught Brienne’s eye and she stopped to look at them, “Oh, these are pretty. Rather sophisticated, aren’t they?”

“What are you, a maiden?” Marge said in exasperation.

“No, I’m Brienne Tarth, and I think these are more my style than some racy red corset or whatever you have planned.”

“There’s your problem. We’re shopping for Sapphire, not just Brienne. After you pick out some sexy stuff you can buy all the grandma panties you want.”

“But these aren’t…”

“Grandma panties. Yes, they are. Come on, Donyse is waiting.”

They joined Donyse who was waiting patiently in front of a pink door. She opened it and led them inside a private fitting room. Over a dozen different corsets and waist cinchers were laid out on a long table, along with other accessories like boots, garters and G-strings.

“See?” Margaery said, “Not a stitch of red, which really isn’t your color anyway.”

Brienne saw that most of the garments were either tan or jewel-toned greens, blues and lilacs. Most of them were leather or silk.

“These are amazing,” Brienne picked up a brown corset of soft leather with an asymmetrical strap across the shoulder and held it against her chest. She looked at Marge, her eyes bright, “This is fierce. Sapphire really would wear this, wouldn’t she?”

“She would, and maybe someday even Brienne could, too.”

Donyse was standing back and letting the women talk. She’d done her job well by picking the right pieces. “How about you try a couple of things on?” she suggested gently.

“Here? In front of both of you?”

“I could wait outside if you desire, but I assure you there is little I’ve not seen before. I can help you with the fit and fetch new pieces if needed.”

“Okay,” Brienne agreed, feeling bold and hopeful, “What shall I try first?”

*** 

A couple of hours and nearly a mortgage payment later, Brienne’s purchases were being loaded into the back of Margaery’s car. In addition to most of the things Donyse had picked out, she’d also bought several more sedate pieces “for everyday wear.”

“I’m proud of you, Brie,” Marge said when they were buckling their seat belts. “Let’s celebrate! I’m taking you to lunch. Sushi sound good?”

*** 

It was early evening by the time Margaery pulled up in Brienne’s driveway. They’d spent a couple more hours shopping and people-watching, but now Marge had a charity dinner to attend, so she needed to get home and primp. Brienne was happy enough to grab her M, M & C® sacks and go into her cozy little house alone. 

It had been a long day; a long weekend. Brienne looked forward to going back to work on Monday. She was in charge of a new study on reducing the effects of Achondroplasia in children. She’d campaigned hard to get funding and convince the company to take on this research, and so far the results were promising.

She had a light supper while watching the season finale of a medieval fantasy program she’d been following for a few years. The show had been getting further and further from the books it was based on, but she’d hoped the last show of the season would make up for all of the questionable plot changes. It had instead inexplicably deviated even further from its source material. Disgusted, Brienne shut off the television, vowing to reread the books to remember why she’d gotten hooked on the story in the first place.

It was getting late anyway, past time to be in bed if Brienne was going to get up early enough to jog before work. She put her dishes in the kitchen and headed to her bedroom. 

Grumkin ran ahead of her and leapt up on the bed, settling in on a pillow. Every night Brienne had to make him move, but instinctive cat persistence made the habit impossible to break. Flipping on the overhead light, Brienne looked around at the sacks from Maiden, Mother & Crone that she’d yet to unpack. Thursday was days away; she’d thought enough about sexy lingerie for one day. The bags with their rope handles and stylized goddess logo could sit for a while longer, until she’d found space in her closet and drawers for the outfits and lingerie.

She switched on the bedside lamp and the room lit up with a warm glow from the mica shade. Brienne opened the bottom drawer of her cherry-wood dresser and pulled out a cotton night shirt. It was long and dark blue with the word “NightMares” and cartoon horses cavorting across it. Comfortable enough normally, but Brienne set it back in the drawer and pulled out a long green plaid night shirt with buttons up the front instead. She’d purchased it in the men’s department of Gemma’s when she was in college and it was soft and threadbare from repeated washings. The designer had likely intended it to appeal to the saggy-pants hip hop demographic needing to cover their over-exposed boxers. She put the shirt on the bed and Grumkin promptly got off the pillow and lay down on it. 

With a shrug, Brienne pulled off her clothes and carried them to the laundry room, where she tossed them on the floor, promising herself she’d do her washing tomorrow.  Then on to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Standing before the medicine cabinet mirror, she looked at her breasts and wondered what Leo really thought of them. Donyse had said she was more of a B-cup than the A she’d always thought. It didn’t change what she saw in the mirror. 

She spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, then straightened and looked in the mirror again. Lifting a hand, she brushed her index finger over a nipple and watched as it tightened a little. As she caressed the sensitive bud she felt an answering excitement between her legs. Feeling naughty, she rolled the nipple between her finger and thumb, enjoying the sight of it darkening and hardening in the mirror. She raised her left hand to play with her other breast, pulling and rubbing until that nipple was as engorged as the first. 

Brienne smiled ruefully at how much she’d aroused herself with her little experiment. She thought of Leo’s tongue on her breasts, his lips sucking them into his mouth one after the other, and had to close her eyes at how much she wished he were here to do that as he had at the club.

She’d been fighting herself all day, trying not to let the man invade _every_ thought. After all, she’d only spent a bit over five hours with him. Granted, they were five of the most intense, erotic hours of her life, but this ridiculous infatuation really had nowhere to go. 

If it was just this constant state of arousal, she’d understand it better. Instead, it was a bunch of little things: wondering if Leo liked the same kinds of music she did, whether he lounged around reading the newspaper in sweat pants on the weekends; did he like science fiction novels and shows; did he read at all? 

Brienne attempted to beat back those thoughts by reminding herself that they might not even partner again beyond next Thursday. Also, he could be married, or he might eat with his mouth open, or hate cats or any number of things that would make her lose interest. 

Then she reminded herself that none of _that_ stuff mattered either, because she would never get to know him outside the club.

Maybe she was just sexually frustrated, and finding a man who excited her was affecting her brain. She was a scientist; she knew it had to be just a synapse or two getting triggered that were making her think of Leo beyond what she wanted and needed him for: satisfying sex. 

Brienne sighed and walked out to her kitchen, the air cool on her naked skin. She got a tulip-shaped tumbler and poured a measure of whisky into it and carried it to her bedroom. She pulled the shirt out from under Grumkin and put it on. _This is not the same color as his eyes_ , she thought resolutely, _these buttons do not make me think of how he unbuttoned my shirt the other night_ … 

Margaery probably never thought of these men as more than sex partners. But then, she hadn’t spent time with Leo. The possibility that she _would_ spend time with him struck Brienne with a sense of dread. Could she ask Marge not partner to with him, even if she herself wasn’t? That would be pretty silly; if they had to eliminate any partner the other had been with, their choices would be limited indeed. Besides, her friend was more the type to recommend things (men) hoping to compare notes later.

Crow was a good example. Having tested him out, Margaery would be keen for Brienne to do so as well. The thought didn’t bother Brienne as much as she expected. A man who knew what to do with his tongue was a rare find, and in the context of a sex club, why shouldn’t she try him sometime? Now, if Leo were good at… _by the seven, back to that again_?

Brienne thought about wearing some of the sexy new panties to bed, but decided to go without. She got under the covers and leaned against the solid headboard with a couple of pillows behind her back and drank some whisky before picking up her iPad. What to read before bed? The Whisky Lovers board? That surprisingly good Pride and Prejudice fanfiction she’d found (you couldn’t go wrong with Mr. Darcy)? She’d downloaded an erotic science fiction book that had a lot of 5-star reviews, but at the first mention of tentacles she’d gone back and actually read the reviews. She hadn’t deleted it because she wanted to read some passages out loud to Margaery for a laugh. Sometimes bad porn was the best porn.

The latest Scientific Westerosi was out, and she’d heard there might be mention of Achondroplasia in an article on pioneering new research methodologies. She opened the site and began reading the Editor’s Page, wondering if the handsome astrophysicist who headed up the publication was any good in bed…

_Stop_.

_He’s a learned man, and his discussion of supernovas and their importance to the scientific community is very compel_ …

_Yawn_.

Closing the iPad case and turning out the light, Brienne rolled over on her side, hugging a soft pillow next to her. Grumkin stepped onto it and began kneading it with his claws and purring. He soon settled down next to Brienne’s face and she laid a hand over him, ready to sleep.

The taste of whisky in her mouth reminded her of Leo’s kiss, but she supposed it was normal to think about that, and it was a nice image to fall asleep to. She burrowed deeper into the covers and imagined him with his arms around her, his warm body pressed against her. Not like it had been at the club, though; his naked body would be pressed against her back, his cock hard against her bare ass. 

The arm he’d circled around her waist would pull away, his hand stroking along her hip, then curling around the hard muscles of her thigh, pressing his hard-on between her legs to rest, hot and snug where he’d placed the rope before. Brienne arched her back and flexed her legs, her arousal growing as the fantasy played out.

He’d slide a hand under her night shirt to cup a breast and rub her nipple with his thumb while he kissed the back of her neck and suckled her earlobe. She’d push her butt against him, wanting him to push his cock further between her legs, to thrust it against her, give her some friction.

Brienne turned onto her back and unbuttoned her shirt. Moonlight filtering through her window lit her areolas, making her erect nipples and rounded breasts cast small, dim shadows over her ribs. Pinching one rosy bud and then rolling it until it hardened in her fingers, she imagined Leo’s touch instead. 

She lowered the other hand to insert a finger between her folds and began rubbing her clit, raising her bottom off the bed and tilting her hips. She imagined Leo’s fingers making her nub respond to his touch, his hand stroking her sensitive tits. She’d wrap her hand around his cock and slide it up and down, trace the contours of the head with her thumb, and then make good on what she’d shown him she could do; take him into her mouth, taste him, use her lips and tongue until he was helpless with need and ready to fuck her hard.

Feeling deliciously close, Brienne knew she could finish with just her fingers, but the fantasy was too good to end that way. She got out of bed and took her nightshirt off.

“Murrooow,”

“Oh, hush.”

“Merrow,” the cat looked at her reproachfully.

Brienne turned on the light, opened the bottom drawer of her bedside table and looked at her small collection of sex toys. These had been discreetly ordered one at a time online, and she’d never shared them with a lover. She had a vibe in a dresser drawer that she’d sometimes used with Hyle, but this drawer was _her_ secret.

She picked up a Magick Wand like the one Valar had used on Redgrass and considered it. She’d tried it once or twice, but always ended up squirming away from the powerful vibrations. As toys went, it really was just too intense for her, and Leo wasn’t the only one who thought it looked like a power tool with that cord. Smiling at the memory of his reaction to the vibrator, she shook her head and put it back in the drawer. Maybe someday she’d buy an attachment for it and try again. Margaery raved about hers.

Aside from the wand there were some vibrators of different sizes, including a jack rabbit, a waterproof butterfly that ate batteries like they were candy, and a novelty lipstick. There were two glass dildos nestled in velvet bags. While the vibrators were just what she wanted at times, the shaped glass pieces were her favorites. She took out the curved one with a slightly wider diameter, appreciating the solid heft of it in her hand. It had a raised blue swirl running up to the bulbous head and looked nothing like a real penis, which was part of its charm.

There were also several lube samples in the drawer, but she was quite aroused enough and wouldn’t need them.

“Merp?” Grumkin asked, and she scooped him up and plopped him outside the room and shut the door.

Turning the light off again, Brienne positioned herself on the center of the bed and rubbed the smooth glass wand up and down between the folds of her lips and pictured Leo again as he’d looked when she was riding him on the bed. She began playing with her nipples again, imagining his mouth on them, slick and hungry as she slid along his hard cock. She raised her hips to rock her pelvis against the dildo before pushing it in to the hilt, feeling the smooth, unyielding glass sliding inside, the tip pressing against her walls. Leo would feel like this when she lowered herself on his straining cock and clenched around him as she moved up and down, watching him pulling taut against his bonds.

Pushing two fingers against her clit again and increasing the pressure and speed as she sank deeper into the fantasy, Brienne wondered what it would be like if she were the one tied to the bed, her legs secured wide apart for Leo’s pleasure. There’d be nowhere to hide, her cunt exposed to his eyes and mouth and cock. He’d thrust into her hard and fast, gripping her hips as he ground against her. She’d anchor herself against the cuffs as her climax built, and he’d be merciless, determined to make her come when he was ready. He’d moan, and his thrusts would become erratic, but it wouldn’t matter because her hips and legs were shaking, and she couldn’t hold back if she tried. With a final soft cry she came, the currents of pleasure spreading from her core and leaving her weak in their wake.

For a long time she lay on the bed as her heartbeat returned to normal. One nice thing about sex toys: they didn’t soften after the act. She left the wand where it was, warm and snug as the last spasms faded away. 

She would have liked to pull the covers over herself and sleep that way for a while, but she needed to let poor Grumkin back in and go wash the dildo in the sink. If Leo were really there maybe he’d get up and do that for her. She smiled; how domestic, having a man wash your sex toy and let the cat in. She’d never get that from him, but he made a fine fantasy. Brienne had a feeling she’d have no trouble viewing him as a sex object until Thursday. Yes, she could do that. 

After stretching like the cat she’d booted from her room, Brienne pulled went to wash the wand. Grumkin rushed into the room as she walked out of it, complaining at being shut out. 

When she’d returned to the bedroom and put the toy back in its place, she crawled under the covers naked and turned back onto her side. As sleep claimed her, the soothing image of Leo snuggled against her led her into pleasant dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we thank you for all of your wonderful comments! They are a joy to read and respond to. As promised, this is your post-season finale treat. I'm sure the majority of us are still in the WTF stage over David & Dan's latest "screw you" to the book-reading fandom. It sometimes seems like they're trying to sink our ship, but we won't let them. Ironic that we all used to fear what GRRM would do to our favorite characters, and now all we want is for him to step in re-claim them. And Alex "didn't bother to read the books" Graves - thank the gods he won't be directing next season. I'm beginning to doubt D & D read them, either.
> 
> Next chapter: Soonly.
> 
> Thank you all for the overwhelming amount of positive comments, kudos and subscriptions. Bound will continue shortly.


	10. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we should go ahead and sit then, my lady. How about a couch toward the back?” Jaime looked around, suddenly noticing all of the other club members staring at them. No, staring at Sapphire; at her statuesque figure clad in leather like a sexy, dangerous warrior woman out of legend. He scowled and took her hand possessively, but no one was looking at him anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> _Sapphire and Leo meet again for the club's 2nd session. Yes, Thursday has arrived at last. Special guest appearances by Bronn (as Sellsword) and Ros (as Garnet)._
> 
> ____________________________

The old clock on the wall ticked slower than usual, each faint _tock_ taking longer to sound. Not obviously, not so anyone could tell unless they were waiting for something, as Jaime was.  The clock had kept regular time for generations, and in living memory hadn’t ever been allowed to wind down. It was steady, monotonous, reliable and changeless as the Bank of Braavos.

This wasn’t the Bank of Braavos, though; it was Casterly Bank. Not as grand nor as old as the other, but quite nearly as dull. The clock wasn’t moving slower and the day wasn’t going to move any faster. Neither ever did. Jaime looked at the digital calendar beneath the compact stock ticker on his desk. Thursday. He didn’t care what date or even what month it was. 

Thursday.

Thursday was all that interested him, but not this part of it. Not this sluggish wait for business hours to end so he could leave this world behind for a few hours. Lock his office for the night, wave to his employees counting out the deposits behind their framed windows, nod to the yawning guards at the door, waiting for their cohorts on the other shift to arrive and watch over the silent bank through the night.

The green Shadowcat waited, more patiently, in the garage before the parking block with _Jaime Lannister, CEO_ custom lettered on the red cement in black paint, as his father’s name and title had been not so many years before. Tywin, having finally convinced Jaime to take his place as chief executive, had remained on the Board, his influence undiminished though he’d relinquished the parking space, the large office, and the damnable heirloom clock counting down the years until Jaime could hand the whole thing over to someone else. 

Shifting in his chair again and tapping a pencil on the desk in a rapid, discordant beat, Jaime tried to concentrate on the proposal in front of him. Riverrun, again. He’d rejected their application for financing before due to lack of collateral, but somehow the paperwork was back on his desk and he could see Tyrion had left narrow sticky notes throughout the sheaf of papers. He pressed the intercom to Tyrion’s office.

“Tyrion,” his brother answered. Why couldn’t he just say _hello_ or _yes_ or even _what’s up_? He knew it was Jaime calling and Jaime certainly knew who he’d called.

“Why are we still talking about the Tully’s and their project? I thought we established they were too risky to fund?”

“They came up with some new assets. Old Tully’s daughter, Catelyn Stark, has agreed to put a piece of Winterfell in to sweeten the stew.”

“You mean pot. Sweeten the pot.”

“No, I mean stew. Have you seen this proposal? It’s got everything thrown in there. Edmure’s not giving up, and he’s even gotten Blackfish Enterprises to sign on.”  
   
"Blackfish is small trout in the scheme of things, Tyrion. But you know that. And Winterfell – what does Winterfell have that we want?”

“Did you see what part of Winterfell the Starks are backing this with? Their White Walker distillery. Catelyn’s no fool; she knows you’ve coveted their monopoly on the northern whisky trade for a while. If Riverrun fails you might get a piece of that.”

“The Lannisters don’t need to be getting into the distillery business, Tyrion, and I can only drink so much. The point is; it’s a bad investment. A waterpark? What happens when winter comes and they have to shut it down for a year or more?”

“The meteorologists say there won’t be another long winter for –“

Jaime didn’t let him finish, “Come to my office. We’re not having this entire conversation on speaker.”

Tyrion disconnected abruptly and Jaime sat back to wait for him. They _could_ have the conversation on speaker, but time would pass quicker with his brother to distract him.

Tyrion walked in without knocking and used the hydraulic lever to lower the chair opposite Jaime’s desk. Once he was seated he pulled on the lever and kicked up from the floor so the chair rose with him in it.  He was so accustomed to doing this that whenever he was somewhere without an adjustable chair he still reached for the lever that would put him eye level with everyone else. Whenever he and Jaime went to movies together he’d spoil the film by continually reaching for the nonexistent lever and kicking his feet against the sticky theater floor. Sometimes Jaime pitied his younger brother, who stood just four feet, five inches tall.

“Your tie is crooked,” Tyrion remarked.

Other times...not so much.

“And you’re not wearing a tie at all,” Jaime said, rising to go to his liquor cabinet. He opened the double doors of curly maple and examined the bottles inside, “Your usual or something different? I read about one Hemingway invented called Death in the Afternoon…”

“I’ve had that. Considering his talent as a writer it’s a fucking awful drink.”

“Absinthe and champagne? What’s not to like?”

“Exactly. Just give me a Tom Tangletongue.”

Jaime filled a shaker with ice, then poured the gin, lime and simple syrup into it. He strained it into a glass with ice and topped it with soda. 

“’Fraid I don’t have any cherries in the bar to make it pretty,” he handed the cocktail to his brother, _and I never will_. 

He poured himself something new he’d acquired: a Widow’s Watch sixteen year-old whisky that supposedly had a hint of vanilla to it. It had been difficult to find, but after a discussion on Whisky Lovers about vanilla notes to be found in some whiskies, he’d made it a sort of quest. Jaime was certain it would be awful, but one of the board members had been adamant that it was not only historically accurate, but pleasant to sip. He looked forward to proving the guy wrong, about the flavor anyway.

He sat down with the tumbler and put his feet up on the edge of the desk, crossing his legs at the ankle, glanced at the clock again and sighed.

Tyrion twisted around to look at the clock as well. He turned back and looked at Jaime, smirking.

“So, Riverrun,” Jaime said, picking up the sheaf of papers again, “If we fund them are they planning to put in one of those fake wave pools?”

“Probably.” Tyrion said, sipping at his drink, “You have something against wave pools?”

“They’re a poor substitute for real waves, but no.” He swirled the Widow’s Watch in his glass and held it up to the light, staring at it absently. After a minute he lowered it and took a drink, swallowing without really tasting it. 

“Thursday.” Tyrion said.

“Hm?”

“It’s Thursday. You’re distracted.”

“Why would I be distracted? We’re talking about this application, aren’t we?”

“You looked at that glass for at least a minute. Tell me, without looking at it again, what color the whisky was and whether it had good legs.”

“I…it…” Jaime realized he hadn’t noticed, “So? It’s habit. Sometimes I don’t care, but I look anyway.”

“Sounds a lot like you do with women.”

Jaime grinned, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“I’d wager you want to do more than look tonight, though.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m paying so much gold for, isn’t it? But that’s not why I’m distracted. I mean, I’m _not_ distracted. We’ve just been over this Tully business before.”

“Uh huh, absolutely not distracted about going to see this girl at the club.”

“Woman.”

“Whatever. You’re going to see this _woman_ tonight, who you don’t want to tell me about, despite the fact that she’s the only one you want to see in a club full of women ready and willing to fuck you.”

“I told you: we agreed to be together for the second night. It’s nothing serious.”

“You also told me you asked her because you didn’t want to hurt her feelings by _not_ asking.”

“Right.” Jaime said, taking a drink of the whisky and trying to concentrate on how it tasted on his tongue. The vanilla wasn’t bad, but the whisky itself was a little mild. Not much bite to it, but maybe Sapphire would enjoy something like it…

“You’re thinking of her now, aren’t you?”

“I’m tasting the whisky, because I am _not_ distracted, Tyrion.”

“You said she was tall.”

“So I did.”

“How tall?”

“Tall, Tyrion. Isn’t everyone tall to you?”

“Does she have nice legs?”

“Probably.” _Gods, her legs. She’d straddled him with those legs, used the strength in them to ride him, fully clothed, until he could barely see straight. Tonight would she wrap them around him, hook them over his shoulders…_

“Probably. Well, don’t look now, Jaime, but your cock isn’t distracted at all. If I were you I wouldn’t go strolling around the bank like that.”

“Fuck you, Tyrion.” Jaime said.

“You didn’t tell me about her tits, though. She must have great tits, am I right?”

“I’m not doing this with you. She’s just a woman at a club that you encouraged me to join. I barely remember what her tits are like.” _Smallish, but her nipples are berry pink and so sensitive that I can’t wait to make her writhe tonight when I finally get them in my mouth again._

“No man ever forgets what a woman’s tits were like. Especially not a woman he’s been, shall we say, intimate with.”

“It was just the first night. We just practiced ties and stuff. We were not _intimate_ ; you know that doesn’t happen in the first session.”

“Doesn’t it? It did when I was a member.”

“Liar. That’s not allowed.” Jaime said shortly, “Is it? Did you?” _Could_ ** _we_** _have_?

Tyrion laughed, “Oh, I thought we weren't sharing. You don’t really want to know those details, do you?”

“You probably just sat in a corner with your dick in your hand and watched.” 

“And from all you’ve told me, that’s all _you_ did. Yet, here you are, looking at the clock every thirty seconds, getting a cock stand just from me saying ‘legs’ and, I have to say, even a little meaner than usual. Sit in a corner with my dick in my hand. What kind of thing is that to say?”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Sit there with your dick in your hand. What do you think? _Did_ you fuck someone on your first night?”

“No, it’s against the rules, Jaime. Look at me: am I a rule breaker? Though I’d have liked to be punished by that Ellaria. Yum.” Tyrion leaned forward and placed his empty glass on Jaime’s desk, “But I remember every detail of the woman I was with on that first night. Every. Last. Detail.”

“Did you partner with her the next week?”

“No. She went with someone else, as did I. Nothing personal, of course. You’re there to play, not commit.”

Jaime finished his own drink, the hint of spice growing on him. Maybe the guy on the Whisky Lovers board wasn’t wrong. If the club had any whisky like this he’d see what Sapphire thought of it. He should look up some other brands he could ask for that might fit the bill; the club’s bartender probably wouldn’t know much about each vintage. If they didn’t have any of them, maybe he could bring a bottle the third week.

Was that a commitment? Planning for the third week when they hadn’t even begun the second yet? 

After Jaime hadn’t spoken for a while, Tyrion cleared his throat and said, “So, this woman you met; what’s her name? And don’t tell me you don’t remember that either.”

“Why do you want to know her name?”

“Just curious. You sound defensive. Worried that maybe I’ve been with her at the club when I was a member?”

“You haven’t. She’s new.”

“So what’s her name then? You can tell me – it’s not even her real name, after all.”

“Not that you need to know either way, but it’s ‘Sapphire.’”

“Sapphire?” Tyrion chuckled, “Sounds like a cut-rate magician’s assistant.”

“It’s because of her eyes,” 

“What, are they hard like gemstones?”

“Fuck off, Tyrion. They’re blue; a very pretty blue,” _she does have astonishing eye_ s, “And what was your name at the club? Gnome? And your mask included a pointy red cap?”

“That’s pretty low, even for you.”

“I’m aiming low; it’s the only way to hit you.”

“Nice. Next time think of a joke you haven’t been using on me since _you_ were knee high to a hobbit. I went by ‘Imp.’”

“Appropriate.”

“Second choice. Madame Sand said I couldn’t go by Horsecock.”

“Really. Did you whip it out to show her the name was yours by right?”

“She knows. Now.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Maybe _you_ should be a volunteer sometime. I assume you weren’t one last week?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention that part, didn’t I?” Jaime said, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward, “I went up and let them demonstrate one of those, what are they? The rings that go around your cock.”

“You did not.”

“No, I didn’t. That’s more your style.”

“It did increase my pool of available paramours once I showed off the goods. Not that you’d have to resort to that. How did you end up with Sapphire the tall girl with forgettable tits? No, wait – the tall _woman_ with forgettable tits and ‘pretty blue eyes.’”

“I think we’re done here, Tyrion,” Jaime said, standing up, “I shouldn’t have told you anything at all.” He walked to the door and opened it, “Go pester someone else.”

“What about Riverrun?”

“It can wait.”

“Have fun tonight, Brother. I hope you don’t regret tying yourself to one woman for the whole night. Try to keep your options open for the next week.”

“You’re telling me not to get tied down in a _bondage_ club.”

“No, I’m saying get tied down by more than one woman. It’s what you signed up for.” Tyrion lowered his chair and walked out of Jaime’s office, giving him a wink as he left. 

Jaime spent a few minutes looking up whiskies to ask about at the club until the hands on the old clock showed it was nearly five, late enough for Jaime to leave for the day. No one would have objected if he’d left earlier, but then he’d have ended up just pacing at home. 

There was a new project car waiting in his garage he was looking forward to working on; a neglected silver Aston Martin GRR series he’d bought from the Castamere estate earlier in the week. If tonight at the club left him in as much anticipation as this last one the intricate restoration work the vehicle needed would keep his mind and hands occupied until the following Thursday.

Leaving his briefcase next to the desk, Jaime walked out and locked his office behind him. He smiled and waved as his employees called out their goodbyes, knowing they were as anxious for him to leave as we was to be gone. Maybe next week he’d take some time off and give them a chance to relax without him in the office. He was no Tywin Lannister to inspire fear by his mere presence, but everyone other than Tyrion and his GM Addam knew better than to approach him lightly.

Jaime took the stairs to the parking garage, threw his suit jacket in the passenger seat and slid into his car, starting the ignition while he rolled down a window, allowing fresh air to replace stale. His tie was off before he’d turned left onto the street that would take him to the interchange and home. Traffic was heavy; feeling trapped between the tires of larger vehicles was one of the few things he disliked about driving the low sports car.  When he finally left the city for the open road, he hit the gas and the tension in his shoulders eased as the miles flew by. He turned up the music on his favorite satellite station, letting his thoughts drift to Sapphire, where they stayed until he pulled up in front of his house and went inside.

He threw his jacket and tie over the rack in the foyer and ran up the stairs to the shower, stripping on the way. He set the lights low in the bathroom before turning on both shower heads and testing the temperature.

The tile was cool on his feet as he stepped in, and the strong spray from opposite walls felt good on his skin. He’d read that the club had individual showers in the paramour rooms, but not showers built for two like his was. Was Sapphire the sort to shower right after sex, or would she let the feel and smell of good sex linger awhile as they recovered, skin slick and thighs sticky, maybe thinking of another go before time was up?

 And afterwards…Jaime wished he could see her in the shower; in _this_ shower, water beading on her pale skin, eyes dark behind the cat mask, watching as his cock hardened for her and the water ran down between the two of them. Should he…? His hand was on his cock, eyes closed. He’d be able to hold out longer tonight, if things got that far. Just a quick… _no,_ he decided, picking up the shampoo. He’d wait. He’d been waiting all day, and he only wanted _her_ touch making him come next. 

Jaime washed his hair and toweled off before going back into his bedroom to look for something to wear. Madame Sand had mentioned people would wear less the second week. Did that make what he wore tonight more or less important? Turning to look at himself in the mirror over his dresser, Jaime tried to see himself as a woman might; he was as fit at thirty-five as he’d ever been, though he had a few scars from the sports and surfing he enjoyed when he had time, and he still had all of his hair, thank the gods, but there were touches of gray in his light beard now. He shrugged to his image, bending to rummage in his underwear drawer. Women were always drawn to him; looks and money attracted them like Hippocras. Even an unapologetic asshole like him never wanted for female attention.

He pulled out a pair of black cotton boxer briefs and pulled them on. They covered a few inches of his upper thighs and were snug but not tight. They’d do. They didn’t have to wear black tonight, but did he want to anyway? He opened another drawer and looked at his jeans. Black, blue, faded? The club was low key, but still fairly formal. He chose the black jeans, wondering how long he’d be keeping them on. 

Back in the bathroom he dabbed on a little cologne and brushed his teeth before grabbing a dark blue shirt off a hanger in his closet. Not quite the color of Sapphire’s eyes, _not that I’m trying to match them or anything_. Jaime smiled to himself; was this how it felt to have a crush? Apparently he'd needed this harmless fun in his life. 

After tonight maybe he’d even try someone else, see if he got this same rush thinking about them afterwards. Maybe he’d ask…he flipped through his memories of the women at the club, but the images were vague. Every detail of Sapphire was clear in his mind, but he’d been thinking of and fantasizing about her since he’d walked out of the Sand Club last week. Remembering how she’d struggled against her own arousal when he’d had her tied, then come so sweetly, had triggered his own release more than once since then.

Threading his belt through the loops on his jeans and stroking the brush through his hair one last time, Jaime decided it might be a good idea to keep some extra clothes at the club as well. He threw some things in a satchel and then hurried down the stairs to put his shoes on. He picked through the car keys in the dish to find the set for the Shadowcat, along with his house keys, wallet and phone, grabbed his lion mask from its hook and locked the door behind him.

***  
On the drive to the club he listened to Imagine Wyverns, singing the lyrics loudly but not accurately. As he turned up the hill to the castle he noticed another car ahead of him, a light colored SUV. He tried to catch a glimpse of the driver in their side mirror, but they were already disguised. He picked his mask off the seat beside him and positioned it as he drove slowly up the curved road, enjoying the glimpses of ocean through the tall grasses and wild scrub. 

As he pulled up to the valet and got out, Jaime saw other masked club members lining up to drop off their cars. He wished he could linger outside to see who drove what, but it was clear he was expected to go inside. The excitement tickling in his chest the entire drive increased as he handed his bag, keys and cellphone to the scantily-attired attendant to put in his locker. He barely noticed the woman, anxious as he was to head to the ballroom and find Sapphire. 

There were many people already present when he entered, including several standing about with glasses of wine and plates of nigiri and amuse-bouches from the buffet table. Rather than simple black clothes, club members wore a variety of different outfits. The women in particular were showing a lot of creativity and skin. Many men wore harnesses over bare chests, leather trousers, or biker vests, almost all of it black. He saw one man in latex leggings with a studded codpiece, and stifled a chuckle. 

Last week he’d walked into this same room filled with doubts and an awkwardness he seldom experienced. Tonight he felt confident and strangely buzzed with anticipation. He hadn’t seen Sapphire yet, so maybe she hadn’t arrived.  Deciding to get a whisky to have something to do while he watched for her, he went to the bar and requested the cask strength he'd had last week. When he found Sapphire he could see if they had any of the vintages he’d looked up earlier.

At the buffet table he looked over the selections, but opted not to try anything yet. Maybe some smoked salmon or yellow tail tuna later would be good. He’d wait to see what Sapphire was interested in. Skipping dinner probably hadn’t been smart, but he hadn’t been hungry earlier.

Kraken saw him standing alone and waved him over to join a group of men standing near the practice room entrance. Jaime strolled over, his eyes roving over the new arrivals looking for a tall woman with fair hair. The room was getting full and the noise level rising. She could be running late. 

“Leo,” Kraken greeted him, “You already know Crow and Sellsword. This is Bookworm and Bearlover,” he said, indicating a dark-haired, pudgy young man wearing a mask covered in text and a tall man with a full red beard, curly hair and a mask with short, coarse fur on it. Leo shook hands with them all, trying not to stare at the squid design on the crotch and thighs of Kraken’s leggings. He was almost sure one of the tentacles reaching down his pants was a bit more three-dimensional than the others.

“So, your second week,” Crow said, “Looking forward to it?”

“Sure,” Jaime said, still scanning the room.

“Me, too.” Crow said, with a little smile, “I’d been hoping to hook up with Rose again, and she agreed to spend at least the first hour with me.”

“Rose is here already?” 

“Yeah, I talked to her about twenty minutes ago. Before you got here, I think.” Crow looked around, then nodded at a group at the other end of the room, “See? She’s just over there, gossiping with the girls.”

Jaime looked over at the group, relieved. 

But Sapphire wasn’t among them. 

Rose was laughing about something with a half dozen other women when she looked over to their group and smiled. Crow got a goofy look on his face and waved at her. 

Taking a sip of whisky, Jaime tried to be calm, but his stomach clenched with nerves. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sapphire might not return to the club. Wouldn’t she have come with Rose?  Would they have arrived separately? That could be it. She’d walk in any minute. Jaime positioned himself so he could see the entrance to the ballroom while he half listened to the men around him. They’d fallen into a discussion about manscaping and he had little to contribute.

The minutes dragged by and Jaime missed the clock in his office to mark them. She should be here by now. Groups were breaking up and couples forming. Some were already making their way to the couches for the evening demonstration. Sellsword left to join the buxom woman from last week, and Bearlover had Wildling cornered near the bar; she was shaking her head emphatically.

Downing what remained of his whisky, Jaime excused himself from the remaining men and walked up to the dwindling group of laughing women and Rose. She saw him approach and gave him an inviting smile.

“Leo,” she said warmly, meeting him partway, “You’re looking very fine tonight. I’m afraid you’re a little late if you wanted to sit with me. Crow’s claimed me for the first. But afterwards…”

Jaime’s eyes widened at the unexpected invitation. Was Sapphire really not coming then? Disappointment and embarrassment colored his face, “I, um, I’m sorry. I was hoping Sapphire would be here tonight. We’d planned on spending the evening together and…is she not coming?”

Rose laughed, “I was just kidding, Leo. Sapphire is here.”

“Where?” Jaime asked, looking around, relief flooding through him.

“Oh, the poor thing. She waited to get dressed until we got here, something about being worried we’d be pulled over by the cops and not wanting to be seen in her club outfit. I have something of a lead foot, so she was right to worry. I left her in the lounge about twenty minutes ago, I think.”

“I think you’ve been out here longer than that,” Jaime said, and then regretted revealing he’d been keeping track.

“Have I?” Rose said, flipping her hair, “Then I suppose I should go check up on her. Maybe she lost her nerve. Oh, I do hope she didn’t just call a cab and leave or something. She’d have left a message for me, surely?”

 “Maybe you could check the lounge for her?” Jaime got the feeling Rose was enjoying his anxiety, and it was beginning to annoy him, “Please.” He added more calmly, suspecting that pissing off Sapphire’s friend wouldn’t go well for him.

“Sure, I can do that,” Rose said, smiling sweetly up at him, “I’ll be right back.”

The woman turned and walked toward the exit, away from the bathrooms connected to the ballroom. Jaime trailed after, noticing only now that Rose was wearing a slinky low-backed dress with silver roses and thorns picked out in silver thread. She looked dressed to kill.

Rose led him to a part of the estate he hadn’t been in before. She turned to smile at him over her shoulder before going into a ladies lounge. Jaime stopped several yards away and stood with his empty whisky glass, as awkward as a teenager waiting for his date to make an appearance, while he waited with her suspicious father. Not a good start to week two at all.

Sooner than expected, Rose came out and walked toward him, pausing to put a hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear, “She’ll be right out,” before continuing back to the ballroom.

A moment later the door opened, Sapphire stepped out, and Jaime tried not to gasp like a fish out of water. She hadn’t seen him yet, she was making one last adjustment to her top…Jaime’s throat went dry…a very form-fitting brown leather corset with an asymmetrical strap that highlighted her cleavage. He let his eyes travel down the slightly darker skirt, which was so short there seemed to be miles of toned legs below, ending at her high heeled ankle boots. He looked up, swallowing, and found Sapphire looking at him, the challenge in her gorgeous eyes almost masking her embarrassment at finding him waiting there. 

Rose hadn’t told her he was out here. 

“Leo. You look very handsome tonight,” Sapphire said, and hearing her low voice again made him smile.

“You…you’re…” Jaime went to her and, palming the back of her head, drew her down for a kiss. Her full lips on his, the subtle scent of good perfume, the surprised little noise she made, sent tremors of pleasure down to his toes, “Amazing,” he finished the thought and stood back to smile at her. 

The blush that had blossomed when she’d first noticed him deepened, but she smiled. She might even be as happy to see him as he was to see her. He hoped, anyway.

“I’m sorry I’m so late. Mar – _Rose_ – made me go shopping with her and,” She swept her hand down to indicate what she was wearing.

“I’ll remember to thank her later. It’s good to see you again,” Jaime said, offering his arm, “Shall we go in? Would you like a drink?”

They walked to the bar and Jaime asked the bartender about some of the whiskies he’d researched. They had a Rebel's Reach from his list; he requested two glasses.

“I thought you might like this,” Jaime said as they looked for a couch to share, “it’s supposed to have some vanilla notes to it.”

Sapphire looked at him curiously, “Vanilla? I wouldn’t have taken you for a vanilla sort of guy.”

_Was there a hidden meaning in that_? “ _I’m_ not, but it I don’t mind the flavor. I thought I wouldn’t care for it, but when I tried some earlier I started wondering if you’d like it.”

“I have a bottle of this at home. I bought it to keep around for a friend who doesn’t really like the taste of whisky.” She took a sip, let it rest on her tongue a moment and swallowed. “It’s good, but a little wimpy, don’t you think?”

“Boyfriend of girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Is the bottle you keep for a boy or a girl?”

“Oh!” Sapphire grinned and leaned closer to whisper, “Both.”

Her breath in his ear or the image she conjured with that one word only enhanced the difficulty he was in since first seeing her in the corset and tiny skirt. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his restraint in the shower; his jeans were becoming uncomfortably binding and it was a while yet before they could be alone. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, “We could get something from the buffet.”

“I’m a little hungry, but to be honest I think I’m too nervous to eat. I’d probably drop whatever I’m eating at just the wrong moment.”

Jaime laughed. If this week’s demo was as sexy as the last it would be difficult to concentrate on food. Though if she spilled some of that whisky on her chest he’d be happy to lick it off for her. 

“I think we should go ahead and sit then, my lady. How about a couch toward the back?” Jaime looked around, suddenly noticing all of the other club members staring at them. No, staring at Sapphire; at her statuesque figure clad in leather like a sexy, dangerous warrior woman out of legend. He scowled and took her hand possessively, but no one was looking at him anyway.

“Further from the stage?” Sapphire asked, “Don’t you worry about missing some of the action?” She was looking at him with wide eyes, all innocent concern. Bewitching.

“Gods, woman, you’re killing me. Are you always this teasing?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Leo. I was in perfect earnest.” She glanced down at his jeans, a small, sly smile playing about her lips, then looked him in the eye, “Nice jeans by the way. They suit you.”

The jeans got still tighter. Not everywhere, though.

“You’re a real wench, you know that? Using your power over men this way.”

 “Only you, Ser,” she said under her breath, as though not meaning him to hear. Sapphire laughed, but it sounded forced to Jaime, “How about that couch there?” She led him to one situated behind the other two rows. 

“I think they’re about to start,” Jaime remarked, his curiosity piqued once again by the combination of bold and bashful he saw in Sapphire. 

He sat down but she hesitated. From where he sat he could almost see under her skirt. _Almost_. What was she wearing beneath it? She held her whisky out to him silently and he took it. She took the hem of her skirt between her fingers and held it against her thighs as she bent her knees to sit. He could see and enjoy her difficulty as it rode up a little in the back and she changed her grip, trying to hold both sides while lowering herself to the couch.

“Damn it, Marge,” she muttered as Jaime enjoyed the show, the smoothly sculpted muscles in her legs tensed as she lowered herself, leaving at least a foot between them when she sat. For the moment Jaime didn’t mind, mesmerized as he was by the triangle of shadow her skirt cast at the juncture of her thighs, a glimpse of her underwear a tantalizing possibility. 

_Gods be good, what if she wasn’t wearing any_?

He wanted to reach over and touch the skin of her thigh, imagining the strength there under his hand…he handed her whisky back instead.

“Good evening and welcome to week two,” Madame Sand’s voice reached them and they both looked to the dais. She was standing in the spotlight in a shimmering red G-string and tiny bikini top with matching platform shoes, “We’ll be starting the demonstration momentarily. I need a volunteer. A man might be more suited, but we’ll accept either. To help you decide, let me introduce Garnet. Most of you probably noticed her manning one of the tables in the Practice Room last week.”

The red-haired woman stepped onto the stage. She wore a riveted bondage harness with straps crisscrossing her bare breasts. A strap ran diagonally from beneath each breast to connect to a ring just above her pubic bone that was held in place with hip straps.  One more strap on the bottom of the ring ran between her legs. She made a show of turning around on the stage to give everyone a long look before stepping slightly behind Madame Sand.

“Enticing, yes?” Madame said, “Now before you volunteer, you should know that Garnet will be the Top in this demonstration. You don’t have to be an established bottom or sub for this; in fact it will be better if you aren’t. Garnet is going to demonstrate how to coax someone into being Dominated sexually. Since many of you haven’t established a preference, or might even want to try switching with your partners, this should be an intriguing lesson.”

The lights went up on the stage and Jaime saw that the furnishings from the previous week had been removed. Instead of the bed the dais contained a St. Baelor’s Cross and something that looked like a mini balance beam. Suspended from the ceiling above the stage were several wicked looking hooks.  Jaime noticed a wooden piece that looked like a painter’s art bench with a stockade attached and an armoire at the back of the stage that despite the appearance of being a respectable antique, probably contained a variety of fetish equipment.

He looked over at Sapphire, who was still sitting apart from him on the couch. Despite her flirtatious comments, she seemed a little distant tonight. The woman he’d held and soothed last week after making her come was still there, but he wasn’t sure how to reach her. She’d responded to his kiss, been happy to see him, but she was also reserved.

Scooting closer until his thigh was aligned with hers, Jaime picked up her free hand and kissed her knuckles, “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried when I couldn’t find you, after thinking about you all week.” _Too much_?

“You did? Think about me, I mean?”

“Constantly.” He kissed her palm and her wrist, hoping she’d say something similar to him. When she didn’t, he cursed himself for the disappointment that gripped him. Had he misread her reaction to seeing him? Was she wishing she’d left her options open to be with someone else here? He was glad he’d claimed her before she’d entered the ballroom in this outfit; had he been late she could have her pick of any man there.  
    
“Who wants to volunteer?” Madame Sand called out from the stage, “Can I have a show of hands?”

Several hands went up, mostly men, but a few women as well. Garnet walked down the two steps to the floor and out among the couches, stopping briefly by each eager volunteer. Her figure was lush and the confidence of her stride in towering stiletto heels left no one in doubt of her abilities as a Domme.

Jaime was aroused imagining what it would be like to have such a woman demand he pleasure her, and his thoughts quickly went to what Sapphire would look like standing before him in her more modest outfit, telling him exactly what she wanted. He put his hand on her leg and curled his fingers over the roundness of her inner thigh just above her knee, wishing he could get on his knees, open her legs and show her just how much he could do for her.

Garnet was walking among the last few couches at the back and paused by theirs, looking at he and Sapphire speculatively, though neither had raised their hands. To Jaime’s relief, Sapphire shifted closer and he felt her hand curve over his thigh as well. They’d stay together.

Garnet smiled knowingly and strode over to Sellsword, crooked a finger at him and then turned and walked away, expecting him to follow. With a smile he kissed the brunette beside him and strode after her, clomping up on the stage in his thick biker boots.

Garnet retrieved a whip with several strands from the armoire and came back to stand facing the grinning man, “Strip off,” she said.

“What, all of it?” he asked, hands on hips.

“You’ll address me as Mistress,” Garnet told him, “I want you naked.”

“Yes, Ma’am – I mean _Mistress_ ,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at the audience. There were a few anxious laughs. He unbuttoned his leather vest dramatically, and Jaime couldn’t help imagining him doing it to burlesque music. He let it slip slowly off his muscular arms, exposing a tattoo of a battle axe cleaving the skin over his heart. Next he took off his boots and his studded black belt before peeling off his black biker chaps. Garnet stood tapping the whip against her other hand, waiting for him to finish. Down to his faded jeans, Sellsword unbuttoned them and freed his cock, letting it wobble in front of him briefly before petting it fondly and then kicking his final garment off.

“Nice,” Garnet said, “But I’ve changed my mind about you being naked. Put the chaps back on.”

“Belt, too, Mistress?” Sellsword smirked, “They ain’t gonna stay up without it.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t want to hear you running that mouth unless it’s to say ‘yes,’ ‘please’ or the safe word.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said gleefully, and put the chaps and belt back on. He stroked his cock again, looking her in the eye and licking his lips.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself. You’re only allowed pleasure at my permission. Touch it again and I’ll have to punish you.”

Sellsword took his hand off his dick in alarm, then deliberately stepped close and rubbed it against her, thrusting his hips to make it bend against her belly. 

“I can tell you need a few lessons on being a good sub,” she said mildly, “and you obviously _want_ to be punished. I don’t know if I should give you what you want.”

“Oh, please, Mistress,” Sellsword purred.

 “Stand back,” she said, “And don’t move.”  

He backed away and Garnet returned to the Armoire. He winked at the audience and wiggled his hips, making his cock and balls bounce.

Garnet came back with a rectangular paddle and some small metal items. 

“Get on the sawhorse,” she said, and with a shrug Sellsword walked over to the thing that looked like a balance beam and lay down with his chest on the padded bar and his arms over the sides. Garnet arranged his cock so it pointed down at the floor from the edge, his ass and balls toward the audience. She secured his wrists to the rings at the front of the device and his ankles at the rear.

“Now that my sub is immobilized, I can punish him when he misbehaves. Obviously this one thinks he’s more a Dominant than a submissive. That may be true, but there are methods to sexually control someone in ways that are pleasurable for everyone. I’m going to start by applying the Gates to the Seven Hells.” She held up a metal harness with seven rings, “It’s best to apply this to a man before he’s fully hard, but in this case we’ll have to work with the arousal before us.”

Garnet knelt by Sellsword and slid the harness over his cock, the largest ring at the base and the smallest right beneath the head. One by one she turned a small screw on each ring, tightening them as Sellsword strained against his restraints, muttering _bloody hells_ and _careful, I’m going to need that later_. 

“I know you all saw how disrespectful this sub was earlier. Right now he is nearly helpless before us, unable to move, and the harder his cock swells the more pressure those rings are going to create. He knows what's coming; he was asking for it,” she held up the paddle, “even though he’s usually the one dealing it out. Putting someone who thrives on being a Dom in a vulnerable position can be very exciting for them on occasion.” She swung the paddle down and it thwacked against the man’s bottom and balls and he yelped, then laughed.

“I think I felt a fly land on my butt,” he chuckled, “When does the spanking start?”

Garnet suppressed a smile and swung again. When she drew the paddle back for another swing Jaime could see the man’s buttocks and balls were an angry red, and he cringed a little against Sapphire. When the paddle smacked down again he flinched in sympathy. 

“Not turned on by watching him get spanked, are you?” Sapphire whispered.

“Sorry, but no. It doesn’t look like my idea of fun. How about you?”

“I hate to say it, but the view just isn’t that appealing. I know people are into it, but…”

“If we were in a bar I think this is about the time I’d be asking you if you wanted to get out of here and come back to my place to look at my etchings,”

She gave him one of her toothy smiles, “The joke would be on you; I’d insist on seeing them first. Do you really have any?”

“Etchings?” Jaime traced a finger down her arm and met her eyes, “Afraid I do. Nice ones, too.” Wrapping his fingers over her shoulder, leaning in and kissing her throat, the heat of her body combined with the subtle perfume she was wearing made him light headed with desire.

“What of…?” Sapphire said, turning her body toward him and letting her head fall back as his lips trailed along her neck. 

Jaime eased her down toward the arm rest with one hand supporting her lower back. “Of?” he asked in confusion, “Oh. The etchings. Pre-Targaryen architecture,” kissing, “dragons,” he scraped his teeth across her collar bone,  “old battle scenes.” His other hand dropped down to sweep his fingers along the hem of her skirt, “Boring. You wouldn’t want to see them.”

“Mmm, I _would_ like to see them,” she said, then corrected herself, “I mean, hypothetically, I’d _want_ to see them.”

_And I’d like to show you_ Jaime thought in the small part of his brain still functioning, moving his lips up to her jaw. 

“Have you lost interest in the demo, then?” Sapphire gasped, “Because I think we’re supposed to watch, or at least pretend to.”

Jaime sat back and pulled her up with him, “You’re right,” he said softly, looking at the stage. Little had changed, but even from where they were he could see the Seven Gates were having a quelling effect on Sellsword’s attitude. As the spanking had continued, making the blood rush to his nether regions, his swollen cock had become painfully constrained, the head of it almost comically bulging above the smallest ring.

“Can you behave now?” Garnet was saying. She was flushed from her efforts, her own arousal apparent from her pebbled nipples and the subtle change in her breathing.

“Is that all the hard you can hit? Mistress?” Sellsword said, though his voice was husky with need and much less certain than before.

Garnet set her paddle on his sweating back and cupped his sore balls gently, “I think you’re ready for the rack. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She bent to release his wrists and ankles and helped him ease off the sawhorse. Defiance and humor still showed in his face, but Jaime could see the effort it cost him. The heavy rings of the Gates made his penis hang lower, and liquid gleamed at the tip. 

“In position, sub,” Garnet pointed to the x-shaped wooden rack and the man gingerly walked over and put his back to it, facing the audience, “The St. Baelor’s cross, named for a Septon who was rumored to enjoy a little kink, can be simple or complicated, like this one. As you can see it has wrist, ankle, and waist restraints, but this one can also be inverted if desired. Would you like to hang upside down, sub?”

“I…don’t think so, Mistress,” Sellsword swallowed, “But maybe?”

Garnet smiled, “We’ll see how you do in the upright position, and then decide. Spread your legs.” She bent to secure his ankles and he raised his arms for the wrist shackles, “Variations on this cross are available in many of the private rooms, behind a special panel. They’re one of the most commonly used pieces of bondage furniture,” she said as she secured him.

“I’d like to see you on one of those,” Jaime whispered in Sapphire's ear, nipping her earlobe to emphasize his point. 

“You first.”

“Deal.” 

On the stage Sellsword’s coarse face was sweating and he’d begun to pant as Garnet walked around him, occasionally flicking him lightly with her whip, the short strands of it snapping against his nipples or between his legs. Suddenly she pushed herself against him, wrapping her hand around his caged bits and aligning it against the leather straps between her legs as she rubbed her tits against him.  
“You want this?” she growled.

“Yes, Mistress,”

“Do you think you’ve been good enough for me to take the Gates off?”

“I’m ready to be bad enough for it, Mistress.”

Garnet turned, putting her back against him and again putting his shaft between her thighs. Jaime could see the swollen tip poking out between her legs and hoped he’d get a chance to be bad with Sapphire soon. He was sure his jeans were cutting off his circulation almost as badly as the Gates were for Sellsword.

Sapphire, seeming to sense his thoughts, eased her hand up his thigh and onto his crotch, still watching the stage. She pressed her palm against his bulge, the additional pressure making his pulse race as he raised his hips a little. Without looking at her, he put his hand on her inner thigh and moved it just under her skirt.

“As you can see, someone who isn’t a true submissive can still enjoy a little domination,” Garnet said from the stage, but Jaime barely heard her. Through half-closed eyes he saw her turn to begin loosening the Gates. 

He slid his hand higher, feeling silky underwear beneath his fingers, warm and damp. He ran his fingertip along Sapphire’s seam, reading it through the fabric. Her breath hitched and he glanced at her, reassuring himself he had her approval. 

On stage Sellsword let his weight rest against his restraints as Garnet removed the cock cage. Angry red rings indented his shaft and he sighed in relief. 

“In D & s, the fun is all in finding out what your partner needs and wants,” Garnet said, “One way to do that is to have your partner show you how they touch themselves. Not only is it exciting to watch, most people find it very arousing to be watched while they masturbate. Sub, I’m going to release one hand so you can show me how you like to touch yourself. Right or left?”

“Right, Mistress.”

Garnet picked up a bottle of lube from a small table, holding it up for the audience to see before warming some in her hands and slathering it over him before unbinding his hand.

“Show us.”

The man reached down and began sliding his hand up and down his slick cock, groaning and gasping as the pain and pleasure coalesced and his weight was only supported by the waist and wrist strap. 

“Do you want to come, sub?”

“Like I have a choice? I mean, yes, Mistress.”

Garnet moved close and cupped his balls again, playing with them as he stroked frantically, jets of cum arcing from as him he tightened his hand and jerked up hard, grunting in his release.

Feeling he shouldn’t be aroused watching another man come, Jaime still felt his own nearly unbearable excitement increase. He worked his finger under the fabric of Sapphire’s underwear and between the soft hair to her slit. As he brushed her clit she shifted slightly away from him and then slowly back, leaning her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed, her hand still working him through his jeans. Jaime wondered how many other couples had become distracted as Garnet released her sub and, with help of two other docents, led him gently off the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys believe we had this little break time? Yeah, me neither. Why are the negative messages the ones that always get more from us?
> 
> Maybe it's because a quick storm is still noisier than the sun. And as a few of you already know, the little storm we faced left a few marks of destruction. We thought about leaving the place, because we were pissed off with all the damage the stupid storm caused to our little harvest.
> 
> But then, when we were still crying the losses we had, a bunch of sun rays saved this awesome little harvest of ours. Readers who kept telling us how much our work brings them some joy and entertainment. Readers who were not only kind, but also sweet and positive. People that we don't even know, people that change our days and make them brighter, by telling us that our little text makes their days brighter too.
> 
> So thank you for sticking with us during the storm. Thank you for protecting our crops from the hail, so they wouldn't be damaged and destroyed. Thank you for letting my partner know how insignificant that storm was, compared to all the sun rays we're having now. We truly appreciate all the kind comments and messages that brought us back to our tillage!
> 
> almostabeauty


	11. Whisky Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have other plans for you.”
> 
> “Don’t I get a say in this?” he asked, giving her an appealing look.
> 
> “Not really.” She said shortly, “Are you afraid you won’t enjoy what I have planned?”
> 
> “Oh, you’ve planned something?” he said as she crouched to move his leg into position, “is it something I’ll like?”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “No?” he looked worried.
> 
> “No. It’s something you’ll love.”
> 
> _Week Two at Club Sand continues with Brienne's POV. Warning: Enormously Long Chapter ahead_

“I’d like to see you on one of those,” Jaime whispered in her ear, giving the lobe a little nip.

_On a St. Baelor’s cross_? Brienne pictured herself restrained against the X-shaped structure, bare before Leo. Fear and excitement rushed through her; could she bear to be so exposed? 

“You first.” She whispered back, replacing the picture in her mind with one of Leo, all of him gorgeously open to her exploration. 

“Deal,” he said instantly. 

Gods be good, this was actually going to happen. The already strong arousal she’d been feeling from the moment she saw him tonight became more insistent. Brienne wanted him; to touch and taste him, to watch as he surrendered to her hands and mouth and will, to make him come as he’d done her last week. Maybe some other week she’d let him bind her to that cross, but this week was just for him. 

The scene on the sawhorse had been a little uncomfortable to watch, but seeing the arrogant Sellsword so thoroughly dominated and stimulated had still been strangely exciting. Brienne knew Leo hadn’t been into the paddling either, but the bulge of his cock in his black jeans, curving to one side and up his belly as he watched the demo, showed her he was turned on as well. 

The tension and anticipation of getting Leo alone had become a sweet, aching need. They would not fuck this night. Brienne wasn’t even sure how much she’d allow Leo to touch her, but some primal urge was awake in her; she wanted to tame the golden lion beside her and make him hers, just for now. 

Emboldened by the way Leo kept stealing glances at her, she put her hand on his thigh, running her hand over well-muscled thigh beneath smooth denim and up, following the line of his erection, pressing her fingers down and around, learning as much of the shape as she could through his pants, gratified by the way he moved closer to her, his quiet moan of delight. 

Following her lead, Leo put his broad hand on her leg, curling his fingers over her inner thigh before brushing them up just under the hem of her skirt, tantalizingly her. Neither looked at the other, pretending to focus on the demo on stage. From the corner of her eye Brienne could see Leo’s eyes half closed in pleasure. While she continued caressing him he slid his hand the final, scant inches to her underwear, spreading his fingers over the silky fabric and the warmth of her beneath it. She knew he could feel her dampness, and she struggled to suppress her embarrassment. 

_Why shouldn’t he know she was turned on, too_? He was only doing to her as she was to him, learning her through her clothes. The touch of his finger tracing over the trail he’d touched the week before while tying the crotch rope startled Brienne, her sudden gasp betraying her apprehension. 

Leo looked at her, his eyes wide and dark, questioning. One look must have shown him how far she was from wanting him to stop as she closed her eyes and nodded. 

On stage, Garnet was slathering Sellsword’s cock, newly freed from the Gates, with lube as the audience watched. The Domme released the man’s right hand so he could touch himself, which he did with surprisingly violent urgency, grasping his cock hard and moving his hand up and down while Garnet held his balls in her gentle hands. 

As Brienne watched the strangely erotic sight of the Sellsword’s hard climax on the stage, Leo moved his fingers under thin silk barrier of her panties and brushed over the wavy hair of her thatch before slipping them between her folds, quickly finding her clit. The shock of his touch sent her scooting away from him, startled by the intimacy of his touch and her awareness of the people around them, but, most of all, by the instant, shocking jolt of pleasure that rocketed through her. 

Merciful gods, she wanted his touch, had imagined it so many times. Leo was looking at her, concern in his dark green eyes, and she deliberately shifted back to where she’d been. Still watching her face, he began rubbing her nub in slow, deep circles and she closed her eyes, letting her head rest on his shoulder, wishing they were alone so she could undo his pants, take his cock in her hand and please him as well. 

But they weren’t alone, and this just couldn’t go on. As far as Brienne knew, there was no scheduled time for heavy petting on the couches. Leo’s touch on her was too good, too knowing, and only her awareness of their surroundings was keeping her from surrendering to the pressure building in her. 

“We can’t do this.” 

“And yet, we are.” 

“We need to stop,” she said, taking her hand off of him and laying it atop his, trying to still his motion. 

He slowly withdrew, drawing out his retreat as he smirked at her. He put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it. Brienne closed her eyes against the sight, hiding from his blatant enjoyment of her taste. What would it be like to have someone go down on her that genuinely enjoyed it and was really good at it? To have _him_ go down on her, as she imagined him doing since last week?

Her musings were interrupted as Madame Sand returned to the stage after Sellsword was led off. 

“We’re going to take a twenty minute break, everyone. Our next demonstration will feature the hooks you see hanging above the stage, which we mostly use for the variety of sex swings used here at Club Sand. Those of you who’ve been with us in past Seasons already know how much fun the swings are. Freshmen are in for a surprising treat, as the swings are one of the most popular accoutrements we offer.  We have a variety of types in the practice rooms to try out later. 

I know many of you are more interested in being alone with your chosen paramours to explore some of the new things you’ve learned before we turn you loose next week. Those of you who passed certification last week and would like to skip the next demo can request a private room. You won’t be allowed to use the swings until after you’ve attended a short tutorial; we want you to be safe. In about ninety minutes, after the swing demo, we’ll open the scene room for open practice and display. That’s a great time to mingle and make new connections, maybe secure the paramour you hope to be with when things officially get going next Thursday. 

But whether you decide to take a room and skip the swing demo or even sequester yourself for the rest of the night, please be aware that you can request assistance while using the rooms, and for this week only a docent can enter your room after knocking and waiting an appropriate amount of time for permission to enter. We’ll try to accommodate your wish for privacy, but it isn’t guaranteed.”

The Madame walked off stand and Leo turned to Brienne, “So, swings…” he said, leaning in and kissing her neck, “Are you as anxious to see this demo as I am?” 

“I’d really hate to miss it,” She said, “A private room sounds so… _boring_.”

“I agree. Why would we want to be alone together,” his lips were on her shoulder, one hand brushing along the strap of her bodice, “When we could be here, watching other people get off.”

“Hmm, yes, I would much rather sit on this couch than watch you take your clothes off for me,” Brienne said, “I mean, unless you’re planning to volunteer and take them off on stage like Sellsword did.”

“Would you like that?” he said, sitting back and grinning at her.

“Which? Taking your clothes off for me, or taking them off for everybody?”

“Just for you. My brother’s the exhibitionist in the family,” Leo took one of her hands and held it in both of his, “But if I have to sit here next to you in that outfit much longer I’m afraid I’ll be undressing you with more than just my eyes. Unless, of course, _you_ want to volunteer for the next demo?”

“To undress on stage?” Brienne said, with barely restrained horror.

“No, to undress yourself. For me. In private,” he said, kissing her fingers to emphasis each point.

“You first.”

“Deal.”

Leo stood up, still holding her hand. At his urging Brienne got off the couch as well, trying to arrange her skirt with her free hand. The extra height her heels added made her taller than Leo by several inches, but she was used to being taller than most men. Besides, once she took her shoes off, if she took them off, they’d be almost perfectly matched. 

He looked up at her, the heated look in his eyes burning away her nervousness and leaving only anticipation in its place.

“Once we get a room key we can stop at the bar and get a bottle of whisky to take with us. It’s your turn to choose.”

They walked to an old fashioned-looking desk near the ballroom entrance, where a few other couples were already lined up. The club employee behind the desk wore black-rimmed glasses, a tidy hair bun and a collar fashioned like a bow-tie and suspenders over her bare chest. “Concierge” was spelled out in curly script on the gold name plaque in front of her.

As they stood in line they listened to the concierge telling each couple about the rooms they’d be assigned. Brienne had read the brochure already; each one contained two private bathrooms with showers, along with a cabinet containing a selection of playthings including toys, ropes and lubricants. While individually themed, the rooms were all designed around sex play. Items used in an intimate manner, such as vibrators or lube, would become the property of one of the paramours and were to be left in the bathroom bins to be cleaned and stored for future use. 

Everything was run like a five-star hotel, with the concierge entering club member’s names and which room they were assigned into a computer system. Once in the room they could contact the front desk and request food, drink, or specialized equipment according to an in-room menu.

“I’ve stayed in fine hotels, with a lot of specialized perks and services, all over the known world,” Leo told her in a low voice, “But this is by far the most unusual.”

“Oh? Don’t all high-end hotels provide their guests with in-room handcuffs?” 

“The one time I was arrested I seem to recall my room being equipped with those, but I’d hardly consider that one high-end. Though now that I think of it, the final bill was quite high.”

Brienne laughed, “Were you really arrested? You must be quite the bad boy.”

“I was young and stupid,” Leo admitted, smiling up at her, “But I still know how to misbehave when necessary.”

“I rather hope you know how to be good as well.” Brienne said, giving him a coy look.

“I think you’re about to find out,” he said, as the couple in front of them took their card key and left the desk. “We’d like a room,” he told the concierge.

“Yes, Ser,” she said, tapping rapidly at her keyboard and looking at the in-desk computer screen, “Leo and Sapphire…” she entered their names without being told and scrolled down her screen, “Did you want any of the items you used last week?” she asked, looking up and smiling, “I can have them sent up to your room.” 

Brienne thought about the harnesses and ropes Garnet had sent to Leo’s locker; would they use any of them tonight? The memory of being tied in the elbow harness and rope had her blushing, and he’d looked so hot in the leather harness… But none of that would be needed for what she had planned. 

“We can call for them later if we want, right?” Leo asked, looking at Brienne and raising his eyebrows, “What do you think?”

“If we need them we’ll call,” she told the concierge.

“Excellent,” the woman said, finalizing the screen, “Would you like for me to repeat any information about the rooms or did you already hear it with the last two couples?”

“Just the key, please,” Leo said, and the woman at the desk smiled at his barely masked impatience.

“The Rainwood Room,” she said, handing over a key to each of them, “Located in the BrightRoar Wing on this floor. Just take a left out of the ballroom and look for the plaque.”

They thanked her and walked over to the bar. 

“Do we want an entire bottle or just a couple of tumblers?” Brienne asked.

“A bottle. We don’t have to finish it; they’ll store what we don’t drink for next time.”

_Next time_? She wondered which of them would take custody of the whisky in case there was no next time for them. Brienne tried not to think of that; she’d promised herself to get through this one night without any expectation of more to come. She wasn’t here to make commitments and neither was Leo. It was just sex…or almost sex, in tonight’s case.

The handsome bartender smiled widely as they approached, “Ah, it’s my whisky lovers,” he said, “What can I do you for?” 

Brienne almost startled when he said _whisky lovers_ , thinking he was referring to the online board at first. An odd coincidence.

“’Whisky Lovers,’” Leo repeated, “I like that. I think we already have a reputation, my lady.” 

“I don’t suppose there are many couples here who both happen to be whisky geeks,” she agreed; _what are the odds, anyway_? “Do you have something from Deepwood Motte or Bear Island?” 

“Let me check on that,” the bartender said, wiping his hands on the tiny apron over his snug leather thong. Brienne tried and failed not to stare at the bold outline of his cock within. She cast a sideways glance at Leo and found him watching her, a small frown on his face. He couldn’t possibly be jealous, could he? The bartender left to look at his stock, probably quite used to having his equipage ogled by his customers. 

Leo bit his lip and looked away from her, seeming troubled. Might he not like the distillery she’d chosen? No, she was almost certain he was unhappy about the way she’d looked at the bartender. 

Returning with a dusty bottle, the bartender held it out for them to examine the label. 

“Bear Island, casked twenty five years,” Brienne said appreciatively, “This is a fairly rare find. Are you familiar with the Winterfell distilleries, Leo?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of them,” Leo said dryly, “Bear Island is one of their smaller banners. I’m surprised they have a bottle of it in stock, and of such age. Didn’t they shut down for a while after their mascot mauled someone?”

“Bart the Bear? I think that’s just a rumor to generate publicity. It’s said there have been several Barts over the years, but personally I think it’s just a hired bear they bring in for promotions. Who would keep a real bear as a pet?” Brienne said, tracing the picture of Bart on the label, “This will do nicely, I think.”

The bartender took out a towel and wiped the dust from the bottle. He handed Leo two empty whisky tumblers, told them to ‘enjoy’ and turned to help the next couple, who requested rum and cola. 

People were milling around, chatting and eating before the next demo, but quite a few were heading for the exit to find their rooms. Margaery and Crow were on a couch together, quite absorbed in each other. Brienne looked away, embarrassed by their rather public display. She hoped no one had noticed Leo with his hand in her pants earlier. 

Soon they’d be completely alone with no one to observe what she planned to do for him. _To_ him. It was time to be Sapphire and put aside her shyness and doubt; tonight she was going to try to be a Domme for this delicious man walking beside her. Heat stole through her, a tingling excitement and resolve making her brave. 

“I hope you’re ready for this, Leo,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a seductive look as they turned left out of the ballroom.

“I’ve been ready for this since the first time I saw you, Sapphire,” he said, looking around for the sign that would direct them to their room, a secretive smile on his face implying he had ideas of his own about how things would go. 

He understood that she planned to be the Top, didn’t he? Brienne really had no reason to believe he was a true submissive, though he’d readily accepted the idea of being bound last week and tonight. Did she really want someone entirely pliable? She’d never been attracted to weak or meek men, but what if they were only that way during D  & s? Brienne supposed she was about to find out.

Leo stopped in front of a door with a small gold plate with ‘Rainwood’ engraved on it. Their eyes met for several seconds, at first serious, and then the deep dimples bracketing Leo’s mouth deepened as a smile stole over his face and Brienne smiled back, her heart light. Whatever happened in this room was certain to be one of the most intense and enjoyable things she’d ever done, and the not-quite stranger beside her would be a part of it. 

Leo pushed the card key in the slot and turned the knob.

The room opened out before them, an opulent bedchamber more reminiscent of a turn of the century hotel than a room meant for kinky sex. Three of the walls were painted a hunter green and the fourth a warm ivory. Two doors in the far wall stood slightly ajar with the bathrooms visible beyond. An enormous bed covered by a Stark Swan comforter dominated the room. A wrought iron headboard with a deep green patina worked in a pattern of fir trees rose at least six feet above the mattress and a set of padded cuffs attached by a matching iron chain dangled from both head and foot boards.

A dark walnut panel on a slider was centered along the wall opposite the bed with several inset lights above. The lights were dimmed, but when turned up they would be like a spotlight; Brienne realized the St. Baelor’s cross must be behind the panel. Two hardback chairs and an antique wardrobe with drawers below and cabinets above stood between the lavatory doors. 

Brienne walked over and placed the whisky bottle on the leather mat on top and Leo set the glasses beside it. With a grin at her, he opened the doors and revealed the toys within. Row upon row of vibrators, dildos, nipple clamps, cock rings and less familiar toys were displayed, each sealed in branded Club Sand bags. Brienne had never seen so many sex toys in one place outside of the local Sex and the Citadel® store on Broadway that Marge had once dragged her to.  Many of the toys she’d seen before online, but arrayed like this in all their latex and sculpted glory was somewhat surreal. 

“You have any of these at home?” Leo asked.

“Uh…what?” _Did he really just ask that_?

“I was just wondering if you have any favorites,” He smirked, taking the seal off the whisky, “or maybe there’s something new here you’d like to try later?”

Brienne felt the blush spreading over her face and chest. The question seemed very personal, yet in the context of a sex club, quite reasonable. 

“I…you know what? I’m going to just go freshen up in the bathroom, okay?”

Leo handed her a glass of whisky and kissed her on the lips softly, “Don’t be too long, okay?”

Brienne walked on wobbly legs into the loo, clutching her whisky. Once the door was shut and locked she took a large gulp – sipping be damned. The bathroom wasn’t large, but it had a sink, a toilet and a shower. Soft folded towels were at the ready on a shelf near the shower, and a thick cotton bathrobe with an embossed Club Sand logo lay on its own shelf, wrapped with a silk ribbon. Small bottles of shampoo, lotion and soap were arranged around the sink, looking innocuously normal.

After a more sedate drink of her whisky, Brienne set it down and used the toilet before returning to the sink to wash her hands. She examined her reflection in the big mirror, noting that everything was still in place, the sexy, revealing skirt and bodice making her barely recognizable to herself. She smiled and straightened her shoulders, touched her cat mask to be sure it was on securely.  Sapphire had a lion outside that needed taming…

She stepped out of the bathroom to find Leo lying back on the bed, several pillows propped behind his head and his hand curled around the whisky glass resting on his stomach. His golden hair spread over the pillows and brushed the top of his broad shoulders and his teeth glinted behind his short beard. He’d taken off his shoes and his legs were crossed at the ankles. Brienne let her eyes travel deliberately over him, pausing to appreciate the way his cock strained the denim of his pants. She knew he was giving her similar scrutiny, and she stood confidently, free hand on her hip and a knowing smile on her lips.

When they’d looked their fill and Leo’s attention was trained on her face, Brienne said in a low voice, “I want you to come up here and strip for me while I watch, Leo.”

He gracefully rose from the bed, took another drink of whisky before setting it on the wardrobe and strode over to her. She stopped him with a hand on his chest when he tried to close in for a kiss.

“Take off your clothes and maybe I’ll kiss you later,” she told him, and the look of confusion on his face turned to approval as he realized she was taking charge. He backed up a couple of steps and reached for the top button on his blue shirt. “Not here. I want you in the light.”

Brienne walked to the walnut panel and slid it aside to reveal the St. Baelor’s cross behind it. She rotated a dimmer knob on the wall, lighting the space like a stage. When she faced Leo again he was grinning at her and she nearly forgot herself and grinned back. She bit her lip to keep the smile at bay and walked over to pick up one of the chairs while Leo went to stand in front of the cross. Positioning the chair facing away from him she turned to see the confusion on his face. With a smile she swung her leg over the seat and straddled the chair backwards, her long legs spreading to either side of the back rest, her skirt riding up to expose her panties. The cool air on the exposed silk and Leo’s hot gaze sent a shiver of excitement through her. She took another sip of whisky, watching the man before her as he strained to remain still until she told him to do otherwise.

“Now.”

Were his hands trembling a little as he unbuttoned the shirt? Brienne saw the apple of his throat bob as he tried to swallow on a throat gone dry, and knew her power play was having an effect on him. When he’d tried to kiss her it had been difficult not to go into his arms, to let him take control and kiss her senseless like before, but she needed to be in charge for what she planned.

Reaching the last button, Leo tugged his shirt out of his pants and pulled it off his arms. Brienne flicked her hand to the side and he tossed it where she’d gestured. His belt was next and he slowly unbuckled it, all the while looking at her. The belt was soon thrown to the side as well and Leo unbuttoned his jeans. He paused with his fingers on the zipper for so long that Brienne wondered what was delaying him.

“Have you been waiting to see this, Sapphire?” he asked. Should she silence him? No, she liked his voice and his tone to well. She wasn’t the kind of Domme to demand verbal obedience.

“I have,” she confirmed shortly.

He lowered the zipper, revealing black boxer briefs. He eased his pants down over his legs, his cock jutting out against the flexible fabric of his underwear, a final tease before he completely revealed himself. When he’d tossed the pants away he paused again, “Did you think of my cock last week, Sweetling? Wonder about its size, how it would look? How it would _feel_? “

The man was teasing her, but he was right; she’d thought about what he would look like naked, imagined what he would be like.

“Finish.” She said, “Show me.”

Leo held out the band of his briefs to ease it over his cock, and before Brienne could get a good look he was bending to pull them down his legs and all she could see was his muscular back, a flash of thigh as he pulled them off each leg. Then he was standing up before her and she could look her fill. 

He was big; not obscenely big, not porn star big, but larger than any man she’d ever slept with. She’d felt him through his pants, of course, but seeing him now, the thick shaft and head, bare and so hard it curved up toward his belly, left her nearly speechless as her desire for him flamed between her open legs, the rushing heat and dampness of desire.

Taking the last of her whisky in her mouth, Brienne noticed a tremor in her hands as well. She got off the chair and went to refill her glass. Her back to him as she poured, she asked “Would you like a sip?”

“I could use one, yes.” 

She filled the tumbler more than usual and walked over to him. He reached for it, but she shook her head and held it to his mouth, tipping the liquid in. She was close enough to feel his cock nudging along the edge of her skirt, but ignored it even though Leo tried to press closer.

Brienne turned to set the glass on the chair, knowing that Leo’s eyes would be drawn to her ass as she bent, the skirt revealing more than she’d have liked earlier. Just now she was enjoying teasing him with the glimpses it provided, and she began to think maybe Margaery had the right idea insisting she wear it.

When her friend had arrived to pick her up, Brienne had already laid out a pair of skintight lambskin breeches to wear with the bodice. “C’mon Brienne,” her friend scoffed, “You need to show off those gorgeous gams of yours,” and put the miniskirt on the bed instead. Several minutes of arguing had followed, ending with them nearly being late and Brienne grabbing the skirt just to shut Marge up. 

Brienne straightened and walked back to Leo, “Up against the cross, Ser, so I can bind you.”

Leo backed up until he felt the smooth wood against his backside. Brienne wrapped her fingers around one of his wrists and raised his arm, strapping it to one branch of the X. She deliberately leaned into him as she did so, and Leo groaned at the contract. 

As she raised the other arm he rasped out, “If you take off your underwear you could just mount me right here.”

“No.”

“No? Look down; we’re perfect together, all it would take is a thrust and a slide…”

Cheeky. “I have other plans for you.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” he asked, giving her an appealing look.

“Not really.” She said shortly, “Are you afraid you won’t enjoy what I have planned?”

“Oh, you’ve planned something?” he said as she crouched to move his leg into position, “is it something I’ll like?”

“No.”

“No?” he looked worried.

“No. It’s something you’ll love.”

He smiled, “Hm, shall I tell you what I’d love? Do you want to hear my fantasies? All the things I imagined doing with you this past week?”

Brienne was smiling, pleased to know he’d been thinking of her, and nearly gave in.

“Later.”

“Are you sure? I have a pretty good imagination and I came up with _lots_ of things.”

She secured his other leg and stood back to admire him, “ _Very nice_ ,” she told him and went back to straddling the chair.

Leo stood, spread-eagled against the wooden X. He should have looked vulnerable, but instead he looked godlike, powerful. He was older than the men Brienne usually dated, she could tell that, but his body was strong, sculpted. A scar ran down from beside one hip bone toward his pelvis.

“The scar there, by your belly?”

“Appendix.”

Brienne nodded. 

“Do you want to tell me some of _your_ fantasies?” he asked after some time passed without her approaching him.

“Not really.”

“But you did have them.” He said.

“You’d like to know, would you?”

“Please,” he said, sincerely. 

“Well,” she said, getting off the chair at last and walking up to him, “I did picture something like this, having you at my mercy,” she kissed his lips softly, whispering against him, “doing whatever I want to you, for you.” She bit his lip lightly and he hungrily opened his mouth to her as she slipped her tongue in his mouth. Aligning her body with his she let him deepen the kiss as her hands roved over his back, the wood of the cross hard against her knuckles, pressing her pelvis against him to feel his rigid cock against her. 

Leo strained against his bonds, wanting more contact, more control. Brienne moved her hands over his lower back down to his bottom and curled her fingers around the cheeks of his ass, pulling him tighter against her, knowing the friction of the leather skirt and top would stimulate him even more. She rocked her hips into him and he thrust against her as much as he could. 

He let his head fall back, “Mercy,” he moaned, “By the Gods, I need you so much. Let me show you.”

“No.” she said, backing away from him. 

“Why not?” he gasped, practically sagging against his bonds.

“I’m not ready for you to show me. Tonight it’s your turn.” She walked away from him, her hips swaying. She picked the whisky up from the chair and took a sip, then another. She held the glass toward him with a questioning look. He’d lowered his head, looking up at her through his dark lashes, green eyes smoldering, and nodded. 

She brought him the glass and helped him drink, tipping a big mouthful in.

“You’re a wench, I think,” he said after he’d swallowed, “A whisky wench, like they had in Old Westeros.” 

Brienne laughed, liking the image. She held the glass against his chest and looked into his eyes as she dribbled some on him, whispering _oops_. She set the glass on the floor and then licked the amber liquid off his nipple with the tip of her tongue before following the line of dampness down his rib cage with her tongue, letting her hands roam freely over him as she went lower and lower, finally cupping his balls and lightly rubbing them with her thumb as she kissed the line of hair running from his navel to his groin.

“Wench,” he said hoarsely, shuddering as she wrapped her fingers around his cock, impressed by the girth, the length extending beyond her hand. Large hands like hers tended to make most men’s cocks seem diminutive in comparison, but not Leo’s. Knowing he was watching as she fondled him, she swirled her tongue around the tip, catching the liquid there and tasting it before lowering her head to take him into her mouth. 

“This,” he said weakly, “would be one of those fantasies.” 

He grunted as she began to suck on the swollen head of his cock while moving her hand along his shaft and pressing her fingers on the sensitive nerves just behind his balls. Brienne knew how to please a man with her mouth; most of the time they didn’t merit this kind of attention, being easily satisfied with a basic BJ. For Leo she wanted to take him to a level of stimulation she hoped he’d never experienced before, to taste and tease him until he was incoherent with need.

She pressed her tongue against the bundle of nerves where the underside of his shaft met the head, feeling his legs sag until most of his weight was supported by the straps holding up his arms. 

“ _Sapphire…wench_ …” he moaned, and she felt his balls tighten. He was close. 

She stopped and took her hands off of him, standing up. He looked at her with half-open eyes and a mournful expression. Brienne almost felt sorry for him. She ran her fingers along his jaw and over his lips, waiting for his breathing to slow, then went back and sat on the chair again.

“Was this part of your fantasy, too?” she asked.

“Somehow I never thought of you as mean,” he said, trying to sound cheerful through his panting, “But no, leaving me hanging like this wasn’t part of it.”

“You were close,” she observed.

“Of course I was. Did you torture those bananas like this, too?”

“Bananas don’t come, and they don’t talk back, either.”

“You love it when I talk back. Admit it.”

“I could learn to like it, I suppose,” she said lightly, realizing that she’d never thought about him talking all the way through what she wanted to do to him. His voice turned her on and his words made her bolder, gave her confidence.

“Can I talk you into coming back over here?”

“Soon; when you stop twitching.”

“I am _not_ twitching,” he said, a smile stealing over his face as he realized she’d noticed the tiny shudders still running through him, “Not much, anyway.”

“Don’t worry; I’ve barely begun to make you beg.”

“You want me to beg? I’ll beg, I’ll plead. Or better yet, unstrap me and let me return the favor. I want to make you writhe, my gorgeous Sapphire.”

Brienne knew he could see the blush stealing over her face, and as his eyes flicked down to her cunt she imagined he could tell how wet she was, how her clit throbbed for his touch.

“I can see you’re excited, Wench, your panties are dark with it. You’re ready for me, too.”

_Damn._

“Tonight isn’t about me; this is all for you.” She said, trying to deflect his attention. 

“I see; you’re going to tease me for that long? You tried to hold back last week, but you were so sweet when you came. I can’t stop thinking about it, you know.”

Embarrassment and heat seared her. She sensed this man could probably talk her into anything, and she wasn’t at all sure that was a good thing.

“I think I’m ready to make you stop talking now,” she said, “More whisky?” She walked over and picked up the glass from the floor, took a sip and then kissed him, transferring some of the strong liquor into his mouth. He hummed at the taste, at the way their tongues burned with the alcohol as they twined together. Brienne had imagined kissing him like this, and it was as erotic as she’d thought; the rich peat taste and scent of the Bear Island whisky shared between them making her light-headed. 

She crouched down again and poured a little over Leo’s cock from base to head, then lightly sucked and licked it off. Leo’s legs tensed, the muscles of his thighs bunching as the sensations spread. Brienne took another tiny sip of the whisky and kissed the tip, letting a drop sear the opening there. Leo yelped; his reaction somewhat stronger than she’d been expecting.

“Gods, woman, that actually hurt,” he gasped.

_Oops again_. “Sorry,” she murmured, and kissed the affected area tenderly, licking and caressing the ache way, “Am I forgiven?”

“No,” he said sulkily, and she sat back on her heels and looked up at him, “But I didn’t say ‘stop,’” he amended.

This time when she lowered her head she let his cock slide further into her mouth, glad he wasn’t any bigger or she’d have to unhinge her jaw like a snake to accommodate him.  Not wanting to spoil the mood by gagging as she took him further, she tried to relax her throat and be calm. Leo stood very still, and she was glad he knew enough not to thrust. Having his big cock so far in her mouth wasn’t especially comfortable, but it was worth it to do this for him. 

As she began to move her head up and down on it, she imagined how it would feel inside of her, and as she closed her eyes she could almost feel it, stretching her opening as it rubbed against her walls…it was almost trancelike, imagining him fucking her as she rhythmically sucked him.

Leo was moaning, practically whimpering, and the taste of his pre-release made her aware that he was closer than ever to climaxing. She pulled away, and he gasped under his breath _Wench…don’t stop_ … _please_ …

“Sapphire,” he said, his head lolling, “You’re killing me. Just let me die, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Leo,” she said sincerely, “But there’s one more thing I want to see.”

“Gods be good, what can you not have seen yet?”

“I want to see how you touch yourself. I want you to finish in front of me while I watch.” She reached up and undid his right hand, kissing each of his fingertips and his palm, giving him a moment for the circulation to return after being suspended for so long.

“You want to see what I do when I think of you?” he asked, trying to pull her against him with his freed arm.

“If you like. Show me how Leo the Lion gets off.”

“I won’t last long,” he said, finally getting his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. Before she could back away his lips were on her neck, biting lightly as he rubbed up against her. Brienne had all the leverage and easily pulled out of his grip.

As she walked back to the chair he called “I don’t suppose you’d take off your underwear before you straddle that chair again?”

She turned to consider him. _Should she_?

He had his hand on his cock, stroking it slowly, trying to restrain himself as he waited for her answer.

“I’d settle for seeing your tits, since you’ve been teasing me in that corset all night,”

“It’s a bodice,” Brienne said, for want of a real answer.

Leo laughed, but it was strained, “Please? I’m bare before you. Just the underwear then; I’ve already felt you there. Tell me you didn’t like my fingers on you tonight. All I got was a taste; I want to see you as I come.”

He could sell ice to Winterfell, this man. Brienne put her hands under her skirt, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and guided them down her legs while he watched, gingerly working them past her towering heels. Before she could change her mind she got on the chair, opening her legs wide around the chair back. She caught her breath when she felt the air against her swollen flesh, but the touch of Leo’s gaze was nearly as palpable. 

He sighed his appreciation and tightened his grip, jerking his hand up and down hard, managing only a few pumps before he put his head back, moaning and grunting loudly as his climax crashed over him. He kept his cock tight against his body and the cum spattered on his belly and chest as he convulsed against the restraints. He seemed to take a long time, shuddering over and over until he was still, his cock softening in his hand. His legs could barely support his own weight as he leaned back against the cross, panting. 

Brienne went quickly into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. Hurrying back she undid the remaining arm restraint and then the legs. As Leo leaned on her with an arm over her shoulders she cleaned his stomach and chest and led him to the bed, tossing the washcloth in the open bathroom door as they passed. 

Trying to lower him to the bed, Leo let his weight fall onto the soft mattress and pulled her down on top of him. He began kissing her so passionately she feared he’d dislodge her mask. His hands were on her back, in her hair, roving down her arms and then clasping her waist, holding her tightly to him as he moved his lips to her jaw just below her ear and down to where her neck curved into her shoulder. 

He moved a leg between hers, pressing up against her cunt as he pushed down on her hips, the long muscle of his naked thigh rubbing against her folds, her nub, until she was gasping, trying not to whimper at how good he felt.

“I was going to cuddle you, you know,” she choked out, “you know, soothe you like a good Domme would?”

“Later,” he said, pulling her skirt up and out of the way to wrap his hand over her ass, “If it makes you feel better you can pretend this was your idea, too.” His soft chuckle vibrated against her shoulder.

Brienne used her arms to push up into a sitting position, looking down at him. He seemed incredibly pleased with himself.

“I must not have done a very good job if you’re still this randy,” she remarked in an unsteady voice as he continued rocking her on his leg. This definitely was _not_ how this was supposed to go, but it would take more willpower than she could muster to make him stop.

“Randy? I haven’t heard that term since I was a teenager. As it happens, I’m still too turned on by you to stop; I love watching you when you’re aroused. You’re not going to deny me that, are you?”

Brienne tried to come up with a reason they should stop, but her ability to think was curiously compromised by the naked man beneath her, who despite her previous efforts appeared to be getting hard again.

“We have plenty of time,” he reminded her, “All evening, unless you want to go back and watch other people have fun. Besides, earlier when I said I’d like to see you on the cross you said ‘you first.’ I went, and that makes it your turn.” 

Realizing she’d miscalculated badly, Brienne tried to wriggle off of him, “But it’s still your turn, technically. I didn’t mean I’d get up there tonight!” she half-squeaked, “We can do something else…I could tie you again, on the bed here, or on a chair.” Leo was looking at her, the amusement in his eyes making her more nervous, “We can do whatever you want. There’re toys…I even saw a Seven Gates in there…”

“Relax, Sweetling,” Leo said as Brienne got off the bed and yanked her skirt down, “What was wrong with what we were doing?”

“Um…nothing?”

“Then sit back down here beside me. No, lay down next to me instead,” Leo said, turning onto his side and patting mattress, “We can talk a little, can’t we?”

Getting back on the bed, Brienne stretched out beside him, leaving plenty of space between. Leo pulled her closer, leaving his hand on her hip until he was sure she wouldn’t back away.

“Okay, you can hold me now if you want to,” he said, “Because that was without question the best blow job I’ve ever had, and I really, really need comfort after coming that hard.”

Brienne laughed at his serious expression, “I just wanted to do this right, the whole D & s thing,” she said.

“You were perfect. My hand’s going to fall off I’ll be jerking off so much next week thinking about it. So, I’m guessing you’ve never played these games before?”

“How can you tell?”

Leo chuckled at her jest, “Just a hunch. I haven’t either. My brother talked me into trying this; I’d never thought about it before that. Something tells me neither of us is hardwired to be a Dom _or_ a sub,” he said, running his finger along her unmarred cheek, “But maybe we each have a little of both in us?” 

Brienne was silent for a couple of minutes, thinking over what he’d said. He didn’t push her to answer.

“I assumed I was more of a Domme,” she said finally, “I’m not really the submissive type, in or out of the bedroom.”

“I know you hold yourself back,” Leo said, and the truth he’d discovered made Brienne shut her eyes lest he see the emotion in them. _No tears_ she told herself fiercely, feeling utterly exposed, an aching knot in her chest. 

“I trust you, Sapphire,” Leo whispered, “Maybe you can trust me, too?”

 _How can I trust someone I don’t know_? _Someone I can **never** know_? She opened her eyes and nodded, hoping to end the conversation.

“I think your armor may be even thicker than mine,” Leo sighed, “Let me earn your trust, then. Last week you tried not to let yourself come, to control what you were feeling. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You should really stop thinking about it,” Brienne said, “I’m just more comfortable when I’m in control.”

“What’s in it for you, then?”

“I loved watching you, Leo. I’ve never seen anything as hot as you when I was sucking on your cock, except maybe when you came…it was beautiful.”

“That got you excited, seeing me come?”

“Gods, yes,” she said, relieved by the change in conversation.

“Did you fantasize about that during the week?”

“Maybe…”

“And when you did, were you touching yourself?” Leo put his hand between her legs, just resting it there with two fingers along her slit.

She nodded, swallowing.

“Like this?” he said, pushing his fingers between the lips of her cunt, not letting her alarmed little grunt stop him. He pushed down into her folds and stroked her gently, barely brushing her clit, “Did you make yourself come, thinking of me?”

Brienne nodded again, and put her hand on his chest. As he continued to caress her she moved her hand down and wrapped it around his cock. Leo put his free hand over hers and whispered “No. It’s your turn, now. I want to see how you come when you’re alone, when no one else is there to see.” Picking up and moving her hand to his waist, he moved the fingers of his other hand to her nub, so sensitive now that when he rubbed it her hips jerked, giving her away. As he continued with increasing speed and pressure she felt something in her start to loosen.

“Let me give you what you gave me, Sapphire. I won’t put you on the cross, but I’d like to cuff you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Do you want some more whisky, to help you relax?”

“Please, Leo.”

Brienne watched him get off the bed and go to the wardrobe, drinking in the sight of him, naked, aroused, perfect. He filled his glass and brought it back to her.

“Here you go, my Whisky Wench.”

She sat up and took the glass, taking several small sips before handing it back. Leo drank and offered it to her again. After she’d taken another drink he kissed her and the shared taste of the liquor excited her as much as it had before. Where had this man been all her life? The same place he’d be the rest of her life: _somewhere else_. But he was here now, and it seemed it was her turn.

Leo put the glass just under the bed where he could get to it easily. 

“The skirt, much as I like it, has to go,” He said, “I’d like to have you take it off in the spotlight…no? Turn around then; I’ll take it off for you.”

Brienne stood and turned her back to him. He kneeled, unlacing the back panel of the skirt and sliding it past her hips, taking his time moving it down her legs as he admired her backside, “Amazing,” he said, just as he had the first time he saw her that evening, “Gorgeous,” he helped her step out of the garment and then ran his hands over her butt cheeks and the backs of her legs, “You jog?” he asked curiously, and when she looked over her shoulder at him and nodded, he said, “It shows, right here…” he traced the muscles down the back of her leg down to her calves. He put his hands on her hips to turn her around.

“So that’s your tattoo,” he said in surprise, and Brienne shivered as he ran his finger over the drawing just above the bikini line on her left side, “Is this what your mask is modeled after?” He was still on his knees, looking up at her, smiling.

“Yes, that’s Grumkin.”

“Cute cat.”

“Yes, he is. You’re not jealous of another cat?”

“Lions do not get jealous of housecats,” he said with asperity, and Brienne chuckled. Grumkin considered himself above all species of animal and humans, but they’d never meet so it didn’t matter. 

Leo kissed the tattoo, “That’s for Grumpy,”

“Grumkin.”

“Grumkin,” He amended, his breath warm on her skin, “I’m going to take the corset off, too,” he warned her, and the whisky must be going to her head, because she wanted him to, wanted to be nude as he was, to feel his hands and mouth on her skin more than she wanted to protect her modesty. 

He unbuckled the strap across her shoulder and turned her around to undo the laces in back. He turned her to face him again so he could watch as he revealed her breasts. Brienne’s nipples were already hard, and the sudden coolness made them tingle – or maybe that was Leo, looking at them hungrily as he set the corset aside. She thought he’d touch them, but he only let his eyes linger there a moment.

“Get on the bed,” he told her, and it seemed he was no longer making requests. She didn’t mind. She lay back and he picked up one arm and secured it to the cuff attached to the headboard. Leo wasn’t smiling now; he looked dangerous and sexy as he strode around the bed to secure her other arm. Brienne looked at his cock, just above eye level as he checked the chains, and the thought of having him make love to her while she was restrained like this made her raise her hips and arch her back.

If he noticed, he said nothing about it. “I’m going to leave your legs free. If you cooperate they can stay free.” 

He got on the bed and positioned himself above her on this hands and knees. Brienne had never wanted a man so badly before. 

“Fuck me, Leo,” she said, and watched as his eyes got darker, nearly feral with desire, “I want you inside me.”

“No,” he said, almost angrily, “Don’t. Not tonight. That’s not what this is about.”

“But…I want you,” she said, confused. What man refused to skip foreplay and get right to the main event?

“I want you, too. And I’ll take you any way you want _another_ time.”

“You…you suggested I ‘mount’ you earlier…”

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Is it because no one’s s’posed to fuck until next week? Who’ll know?”

“Sapphire…we’ll know. Just fucking you would be, well, a cop out. Mostly for you; you’re afraid of how I’m about to make you feel, whether you know it or not. Putting my dick in you isn’t going to make you let your guard down.”

She hadn’t realized it before, but he was right. How often had she avoided a deeper intimacy by skipping anything she felt threatened her self-control? 

“What makes you so perceptive?” she asked, trying not to sound sarcastic.

“I told you; I thought about you a lot last week.”

“So I’m like a challenge for you.”

“Sweetling, you’re the prize,” he said, lowering his head to kiss her at last, “ _and_ a challenge. Now, I don’t want to hear you to say ‘fuck’ again unless you’re moaning it in ecstasy, right?”

He got off the bed again and retrieved the glass from under the bed, “Drink,” he said, holding it for her. She raised her head and drank what he offered, “And for gods' sake, stop _thinking_ so much.”

This time he carried the drink over to the wardrobe to put it down, then turned off the lights over the St. Baelor’s cross and closed the panel. By the door he found another dimmer switch and turned the room lights down.

He came back and got on the bed.  Without a word he lowered his mouth to her breast and swirled his tongue around her nipple, and the arousal she thought had fled with his refusal rushed back as he drew the tender bud into his mouth and sucked. He supported himself on one elbow and his other arm snaked across her belly, his hand going between her legs again to find and rub her clit, drawing a line of fire that spread rapidly over her entire body. Leo switched to her other nipple and sucked hard, biting down just enough to make her writhe with sensation, surprised by the little sounds he was drawing out of her as she felt herself becoming untethered, stopped thinking as he’d demanded.

He moved his hand away and his mouth on her became the center of her being. Without leaving her skin he traced his lips and tongue over her breast and down her ribcage. His heat was gone from her side as he moved down the bed on his knees, the path of his tongue over the taut swell of her belly, around the dip of her navel, their only point of connection. 

Then his hands were on her inner thighs, spreading her legs wide. She felt the scruffy beard on his chin scraping over her pubic bone, and then his tongue was flicking against her nub. He used his fingers to open her folds and sucked her clit between his lips and she cried out, beginning to writhe, to clench her belly to curl forward and found herself held back by the chains and arched her back instead, forced to endure the excruciating pleasure Leo was inflicting.

Just when she thought she could take no more, he stopped. 

“I’ve wanted to go down on you so much, Sapphire. Do you like having my tongue on your clit?” He licked her from her entrance to her nub, slowly, exploring the crevices of her folds. He raised his head again,“When you got yourself off thinking about me, did you imagine my mouth between your legs, tasting you and sucking you the way you’d planned to suck me?”

When Brienne didn’t answer, Leo began using his fingers to rub and roll her clit, increasing the pressure bit by bit, “Answer me, Wench. When you put your fingers down here, did you imagine it was my mouth? My tongue?”

“Yes, yes, Leo!” she whimpered as he wound her up further, “Gods, oh, gods…” her hips started to shake uncontrollably, something that had never happened when she wasn’t alone. So close now…

Leo stopped rubbing, and she raised her hips, straining against the chains again, the need to finish nearly unbearable.

“Did you use a vibrator, too?” he asked, “Did you put something inside you and pretend it was me?”

“I used something…”

“What did you use?”

“Glass, a glass toy…not a vibrator…”

He pushed a finger inside her, the feel of him pushing past her swollen tissues and pressing against her walls making her tremble with need, “Like this?” he asked, then withdrew and thrust two inside. She couldn’t answer him; she was nearly insensible with what he was doing to her. Once again he lowered his head and took her between his lips, sucking as he thrust his fingers into her, harder and faster until she cried out, over and over, moaning and gasping as she shook apart under his hand and mouth, climaxing harder than she’d ever thought she could. He slowed as her moans subsided to heaving breaths, finally moving to release her from the cuffs. 

He gathered her in his arms and she blindly sought his mouth, needing his kiss as her senses slowly came back to her. Just as her breathing began to even out, Leo put his hand back between her legs and, with far less pressure on her over-sensitive flesh, caressed her to another orgasm, and this time she was able to cling to him as she came undone. Leo wrapped her in his strong arms as she drifted off to sleep and he soon dropped into a doze himself.

Brienne didn’t sleep long in the strange bed, awakening in the dim light to Leo’s quiet snoring, his arms still around her. His sleeping face was peaceful, slack. She yearned to peek under his mask, to really see the man who’d become so much to her so quickly. 

The euphoria of earlier began to fade, despair creeping in to take its place. She’d feared this, that her feelings for Leo would become too strong. She knew the ache she felt right now would be nothing to what it would be like when the Season ended and she never saw him again. He might come back for another Season, but this would be her only one. She couldn’t accept another such extravagant gift from Margaery, and she’d never dip into her inheritance for it. 

It was growing late; probably time to return to the ballroom. The urge to melt back into Leo’s arms had to be denied; he’d really gotten under her skin tonight, and the sooner she pulled herself together the better it would be for both of them.

“Sapphire?” he whispered sleepily, noticing she was awake. He could no doubt feel how tense she’d become in his arms, “It’s not time to go yet, is it? Let me hold you a little longer.”

“It feels late. We should probably get back.”

“I think there was a clock in the bathroom. We can check it in a bit. They can come kick us out if they have to.”

“I suppose they can,” Brienne said reluctantly, conflicted. She made herself relax next to him again, and he nuzzled her hair, smiling.

“I wonder what kind of room we’ll have next week?” he mused, “Do you suppose they have anything tacky like a medieval chamber or something from old Westeros, or are they all as tasteful as this?”

“Next week?” Brienne asked warily.

“Yes, next week…” Leo said, trailing off as he caught her tone, “You’ll be my paramour next week, won’t you?”

“I’m not sure,”

Leo propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her, his eyes narrowed in confusion, “I thought…I should have asked before…I want us to be paramours for the season. We’re so good together; I just thought you…I mean, you want to stay together, don’t you?”

“I don’t think we should make any commitments, Leo,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “Can we just play it by ear?”

“ _Play it by ear_?” he asked incredulously, hurt creeping into his tone, “Is this because I refused to make love to you earlier? I wanted to wait until next week, to get to know each other a little better first –“

“We _can’t_ get to know each other,” Brienne said, the words bitter on her tongue, “That’s the problem; I feel like I’m in too deep already. I just came to have a good time, not to make some crazy commitment that’s going to make it harder when the Season is over.”

“Wait, you’re saying we _can’t_ be together because we _want_ to be together?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m protecting us both. We’ll see how we feel week by week, be free to move on any time. If we decide to be together next week, that will be fine. And we can decide again the week after that. No expectations.” 

Brienne’s heart quailed when she finally looked him in the eye, watching as surprise and hurt turned cold, as he looked away from her, his jaw clenched in anger. Without another word he got off the bed, picked up his clothes and went into his bathroom to get dressed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back again, dear readers, with extra smut and feels! Thank you for all of your impatience for this - it is much appreciated! ;P Seriously, it's fun to know you're out there waiting and hoping for an update. Please keep the comments coming; we really do like it when you talk to us, dirty or otherwise.
> 
> Click for a picture of [Brienne's Corset](http://www.pinkraygun.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/asymmetrical-corset.jpg). A picture of her Grumkin Tattoo will be forthcoming.


	12. When You Let Her Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime struggles with Sapphire's suggestion that they not commit to the next week. This chapter picks up just before the end of the previous chapter, only from Jaime's POV.
> 
> _Song lyrics from Imagine Dragon's "Hear Me" and Passenger's "Let Her Go"_
> 
> 4600 words.

Jaime was having the most wonderful dream. He dreamt he was lying in bed, holding a warm, naked woman in his arms. He felt completely satisfied, in the way he only felt after a dangerously fast drive, surfing a heavy wave, or really great sex. Considering the woman in his arms and the heady smell of arousal and completion, this dream had undoubtedly been about fucking. Not wanting to wake up, he held on tight; the feel of his dream girl’s smooth back and her arse curved against his cock suffusing him with contentment. Minutes passed in this pleasant state until the woman shifted away from him, her wary tension bringing him abruptly out of sleep.

“Sapphire?” he said softly, quickly recalling a name, though he still wasn’t sure if she was real.

“It feels late,” a low, feminine voice. Definitely real. “We should probably get back.”  

The memories of his tall, intriguing paramour came rushing back. “I think there was a clock in the bathroom,” he told her, his voice still burred with sleep, “We can check it in a bit. They can come kick us out if they have to.”

“I suppose they can,” Sapphire said, relaxing next to him again. 

Jaime felt a quiver of excitement in his chest. _Real_. He rubbed his nose against the short blond hairs of her nape, a small intimacy he’d not indulged in over two years. How strange to find it in such a setting.

“I wonder what kind of room we’ll have next week?” he said, imagining the possibilities, “Do you suppose they have anything tacky like a medieval chamber or something from old Westeros, or are they all as tasteful as this?”

Sapphire hesitated, and when she spoke her voice was strained, “Next week?” 

“Yes, next week,” Jaime said, wondering at her tone, “You’ll be my paramour next week, won’t you?”

“I’m not sure,”

Sitting up a little to look at her, Jaime felt his joy vanish as she avoided his eyes, “I thought…” he hesitated, shaking off sleep, “I should have asked before. I want us to be paramours for the season. We’re so good together; I just thought you…I mean, you want to stay together, don’t you?”

“I don’t think we should make any commitments, Leo,” she said, “Can we just play it by ear?”

She was brushing him off with a hackneyed cliché. After all they’d done, surrendering to one another; the both of them giving up control in a measure of trust… _did it mean nothing_? Jaime recalled how he’d refused to enter her before, believing that the intimacy of bringing her to climax with his tongue and fingers was more important to building trust than a simple fuck. Almost _anyone_ could fuck and mean nothing at all by it. Sometimes it was just parts, and that was often enough. But not for her, or them.

“ _Play it by ear_?” he asked, “Is this because I refused to make love to you earlier? I wanted to wait until next week, to get to know each other a little better first –“

Sapphire sat up, “We _can’t_ get to know each other,” she said, grimacing, “That’s the problem; I feel like I’m in too deep already. I just came to have a good time, not to make some crazy commitment that’s going to make it harder when the Season is over.”

“Wait,” Jaime said, baffled, “You’re saying we _can’t_ be together because we _want_ to be together?” He almost laughed in relief, but the expression in her eyes was dark, anguished.

“Don’t you get it? I’m protecting us both.” _Exasperation? Fear_?  “We’ll see how we feel week by week, be free to move on any time. If we decide to be together next week, that will be fine. And we can decide again the week after that. No expectations.” 

And there it was. She was telling him it wasn’t how he’d thought. Just the look on her face made him feel like a fool. Was this how the women he’d dated felt when he backed away, knowing all of his graceful excuses about not being ready for a relationship were just a way to let them down easy? _How does it feel_ , he asked himself, _knowing that someone **you** want doesn’t give a dusty fuck_?

Embarrassed and ashamed, he got out of the bed as fast as his dignity would allow. He found his clothes where he’d tossed them earlier, picked them up and retreated to the bathroom next to Sapphire’s, resisting the urge to slam the door. 

Once inside, he let his clothes fall to the floor, and dropped heavily onto the closed toilet seat. He lowered his face into his hands, unexpectedly encountering his mask. He’d forgotten about that; his brave, anonymous lion face. He flipped it off and let it hit the floor as well.  Burying his hands in his hair and resting his elbows on his thighs, he sat for long minutes, trying to think of nothing.  Trying not to give in to the ache of rejection in his chest. 

It was just a fucking bondage club. Or was it a bondage fucking club? What in the seven hells had he thought, letting himself become invested in a stranger. Some girl, no doubt mad, unbalanced … What kind of woman signed up for something like this? Why had he let Tyrion talk him into becoming a member? _Join the club, you’ll love it._ Why’d he listen to the little fuck that time but not earlier in the day? _Don’t let yourself get tied to one woman_. _You’re there to play, not to commit_. 

Jaime stood up and flipped the lid and seat of the toilet up with his foot so he could make water.  After, he pressed the lever to flush, picturing all of his hurt and anger swirling down out of sight with his piss. _It doesn’t matter_ , he told himself, going to the sink and unwrapping the soap before letting the water flow over his hands. He checked his reflection in the mirror, seeing how tired and bitter he looked. It would not do. He relaxed his face, letting the indifferent expression he found so useful for getting through most of his days settle there, familiar and more concealing than his club mask. 

He shook the water from his hands and turned on the shower, making it near to scalding. No need for a cold shower; that was over. He needed an edge of pain to focus his resolve. He stepped under the steaming water, letting it run over his head and weave its way down through his hair.  Cursing, he realized he’d forgotten the soap on the counter. The bathroom was small enough that he was able to set one wet foot on the bathmat and lean out to grab the bar, along with the little shampoo bottle. 

He rubbed the soap vigorously over his chest before he realized the scent of it reminded him of Sapphire. She must have washed her hands with one of the bars earlier. Jaime scrubbed under his arms, willing away the sight of her beneath him, naked and vulnerable. He tried to call up another face, another body to put her out of his mind. _Cersei’s, maybe_... 

No, not Cersei. That was long over, and imagining her gave him no comfort. What they’d once had was deader than a toasted wight in a half-groat novel. Maybe one of the lovers from his brief time dating? Though he tried, not a single face came to mind. 

He let the soap slide from his hand onto the floor and used the shampoo on his still-clean hair before turning the water off. Pulling a fluffy towel from the rack, Jaime wondered if Sapphire had tired of waiting for him in the big bedroom and left. What if she had gone? Would he go out to an empty bedroom? The thought was troubling. Dressing quickly, Jaime ran his fingers through his wet hair and put his mask back on, discarding the notion of leaving it off to show her how little he cared for rules.

Sapphire was waiting by the door to the room, dressed again in her short skirt and bodice. She’d brushed her hair and rubbed off most of her lipstick, which had been smeared from his kisses. Her eyes were downcast, the sweeping lashes casting shadows behind her mask.  She had a shy, half smile on her lips as she glanced at him quickly before looking back down. 

Jaime strode quickly across the room, noticing that Sapphire had put everything back in its place, but left the whisky and glasses on the wardrobe. He wondered if the staff would drink it later, since neither of them seemed to want to claim it. 

He held out his hand, “My lady,” he said formally, and she gingerly placed her hand on his. Curling his fingers around hers, he led her out of the room and into the corridor. He’d forgotten to look at the clock in the bathroom, but he knew their night was over. They walked back to the ballroom silently, not hurrying. 

Everyone else’s evening hadn’t quite ended, at least not like theirs had. Members were arranged in clumps throughout the room, eating, drinking and laughing. Jaime could see a small group clustered around the stage, where a very naked man and woman were playing with the swing. Sapphire’s friend was over by the buffet with the short guy; Raven, was it? Whatever. 

He led Sapphire over to them. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it gently, letting his courtly manners carry him through their awkward leave-taking. “Goodbye, Sapphire,” he said, looking into her eyes, expecting little.

“Goodnight, Leo,” she said, and gazed full at him. Her pupils were wide, almost eclipsing her irises, now an even more remarkable blue compared to the tinge of red around them. Had she been crying while he showered? He resisted the urge to pull her into a hug, to comfort them both.  

“I…um, I look forward to seeing you next week.” Jaime said, wondering if he’d managed to sound less wounded than he felt. Sapphire nodded, giving him a small smile and a spreading blush in answer.  He leaned forward, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and retreated, his long strides taking him out of the ballroom. He motioned to an employee, barely noting their gender or attire, and requested his car be brought round.  

In the foyer he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. No one else was waiting for their vehicle. Jaime knew he was behaving like a spoiled child, abandoning Sapphire by herself just because he felt insulted that she didn’t jump at the chance to commit to being his for the next ten weeks. _At least I left her with her friend_ , he thought, trying to shake off the guilt creeping over him, _besides, now she can find someone else, if that’s what she wants_ , _so I’m doing her a favor_.

 _You’re an asshole_ … Jaime almost turned his head to see who was speaking to him, _you left her there and the moment you left she’ll have been surrounded by suitors_. He hated it when the voices in his head argued. He stood up and looked at the door, picturing what would happen if he went back to the ballroom, pushed his way through the men who would be gathering around Sapphire like direwolves circling an especially tall fawn, and kissed her soundly. _After_ telling her he hoped she’d be waiting for him next Thursday. No, _before_ telling her, was that better? 

Jaime had taken two steps toward the door when a valet entered from the exit, “Your car is ready, Ser,” the young man said, smiling, “That’s a sweet Shadowcat you’ve got. Did you restore her yourself?”

“I did,” he turned back and followed the valet out, “she’d been pretty mistreated when I found her, but beneath the neglect that engine was just waiting for someone to make her purr.” _Who’s using hackneyed clichés, now_? 

The valet kept him there for a few minutes, talking solenoids and pistons while Jaime kept an eye on the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sapphire leaving with her friend. _Would she like the Shadowcat if she came out and saw it_? _Don’t be an idiot; you’re the only asshole leaving this early. She doesn’t want to know you or your car_.

At last Jaime slid into the driver’s seat, resisting the urge to tip the employee. This wasn’t the first time an eager valet had engaged him in conversation about one of his cars, but until now he was never sure if they were just ingratiating themselves for a bigger gratuity. He thanked the young man and gunned the engine, earning a smile from his car’s admirer. He drove away from the valet station and headed back down the road, tossing his mask onto the passenger seat as he did so.

His phone rang and he looked over at it in the charger, realizing that he hadn’t asked for his phone before he left. It seemed nothing went unnoticed in Club Sand when it came to their clientele. Tyrion’s name and a picture of him making a crude gesture were displayed on the car’s integrated video screen. Jaime hit the _accept_ button and his brother’s grinning face replaced the static image.

“What do you want, Tyrion?” Jaime said.

“I got a ding from my JPS that you were on the move and –“

“What in the seven hells is a JPS?”

“Jaime Positioning System. Anyway, I wanted to know –“

“ _Jaime Positioning System_? What the…when did you put a tracker on my phone?”

“When you became CEO. It’s right there in your contract, which you probably didn’t read. In case you’re kidnapped or incapacitated or otherwise…”

“What do you want, Tyrion?”

“Oh, many things, Brother, but at the moment I want to know how it went with She of the Unremarkable Tits.”

“I’m disconnecting now,” Jaime said, reaching for the button.

“No, don’t!” Tyrion’s face became contrite, “I’m sorry. You sound angry. I mean, more than usual. Can you activate your screen so I can see you, too?”

Jaime flicked the button that would turn on the tiny camera mounted in his rearview mirror. He tried a cutting grin, “I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth, “See?”

“You’re not. Your nostrils are flared and your eyelid twitched. I’m worried you’re about to have an aneurism. Maybe you should come by my place so I can be sure you’re all right. For the Company’s sake.”

“I just want to go home and sleep, Tyrion. You know how exhausting bondage clubs are.” Jaime checked both directions before turning his car onto the sea road and accelerating. He put the windows down and let the air in to clear his head. “Tide must be out,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose, “by the Father, it smells like a godsdamned corpse out there.”

“I can’t hear you over the wind!” Tyrion raised his voice, “It sounds like you said father smells like a cod’s corpse.”

“Part right,” Jaime said, putting the windows back up and smiling a little more easily.

“So why did you leave early?” Tyrion said into the sudden silence, “Did the other men run you out for being too much competition?”

“How’d you guess?” Jaime said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“Uh oh. Your girl turn out to be too clingy? I told you not to –“

“Just shut up, all right? It’s private.”

“Sure.” Tyrion said, attempting to look innocent, “But could you come over anyway? Tysha’s out visiting her father and I could use a drinking companion to keep me out of trouble. I have whisky.”

“Better not be anything from Winterfuck’s distilleries.”

“Uh,” Tyrion glanced over to the side and Jaime heard the clink of thick glass bottles being shoved aside, “Not anymore, it’s not. I’ve got something from the Stormlands that you left here before. Will that do?”

“I really am tired.” Jaime said, reaching for the disconnect button.

“Yes, I know. I’ll see you in about a half an hour. Please?” Tyrion gave him his most sincere expression, which was frankly hideous to behold.

“I’ll think about it.” Jaime pressed the button and the screen went black. “Music” he told the car and was immediately enveloped in the heavy beat of an Imagine Wyvern’s song. Settling back into the seat, he let the music carry him as he tore down the highway, letting his love for speed take over. 

_Try to hear my voice_  
 _You can leave, now it’s your choice_

_Maybe if I fall asleep, I won’t breathe right_  
 _Maybe if I leave tonight, I won’t come back_

“Next song,” Jaime said abruptly, wondering how he’d never noticed those lyrics to “Hear Me” before. Evil coincidence. The next song’s lyrics were impossible to make out, but it sounded upbeat. Relaxing into the drive he let the next several selections on his music service play, singing along with whichever lyrics he knew. He’d almost put the night out of his mind when Driver’s latest hit came on:

_Staring at the bottom of your glass_  
 _Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last_  
 _But dreams come slow and they go so fast_

_You see her when you close your eyes_  
 _Maybe one day you’ll understand why_  
 _Everything you touch surely dies_

“Next,” he growled, then reconsidered before the next song could snag his attention, “Music off.”

Noticing Tyrion’s exit was coming up next he decided to accept his invitation. He needed a drink, and his brother would surely get drunk first and not even notice if Jaime waxed a little maudlin about his love life… _no, **not** love life_. Was there a name for the state of his heart? _Atrophied? Dead_. _Yes, better off dead_.

Jaime took the curve of the ramp above the posted speed, letting the car coast into it and then flying through it at top speed until he had to brake hard at the light, where he let the car idle long after it had gone green. He wasn’t sure how many cycles he’d sat through before an old woman pulled up behind him in an ancient Dothraki van, incongruously painted in peace symbols. She honked the horn, startling him. 

“Hey _kristasof_ , there’s no word for ‘peace’ in Dothraki,” Jaime muttered sourly as he pulled out onto the empty road, “and your piece of _graddakh_ bus is about to throw a rod, too.” _Well I guess I told her_ , he thought with little satisfaction as he caught the next green light and turned into Tyrion’s neighborhood.

His brother lived in a large modern house at the top of a hill, set slightly above his equally affluent neighbors. Tyrion joked that whenever possible he liked to be able to look down on people from on high. He accepted his dwarfism with generally good grace, acknowledging that being the son of a very rich man made up for much. That their father was the only person around who had the poor grace to judge Tyrion for his condition was often a cause for annoyance to both sons.

Jaime pulled up the winding drive, briefly reminded of the much longer, steeper road to Club Sand, and pulled in behind the classic Castamere he’d restored for Tyrion’s twenty-first birthday. The silver finish gleamed in the moonlight; he was glad that his brother still kept the rare car up so well. He took the steps up to the front door two at a time and went inside without knocking. 

“Are you in the midget cave?” he called out.

 _“In here,”_ he heard his brother yell from across the house, and took the familiar route back to Tyrion’s den, where he petted the fake mammoth head mounted over the fireplace affectionately before leaping over his favorite couch to land in a prone position. He crossed his ankles and put his arms behind his head.

“It’s a godsdamned _man_ cave,” Tyrion said, rising from his recliner, “You’re behind. I started drinking already.” He picked up a clean tumbler from the table and reached for the whisky.

“You got any decent wine?” Jaime said, “I’m not in the mood for whisky.”

Giving him a look, Tyrion deliberately put down the tumbler, “Peculiar. House brand or shall I open a bottle of the Sunset Sea I got at auction last month? I hear the Bastard’s Hill is at its peak right now.”

“Not in the mood for dad’s pet winery, either,” Jaime said, “Let’s try the other.”

Tyrion poured the ruby colored wine into an elegant crystal decanter and then poured two glasses, handing one to Jaime. “You might want to let it breathe,” he said, settling back in his recliner.

“Fuck breathing,” Jaime said, but swirled the wine anyway, holding it to the light to judge the color before drinking most of the glass in one long swallow, “Nice.” He drained it and helped himself to more. “This one can breathe,” he said, lying back with the glass in one hand.

“No whisky, no ceremonial sniffing of the wine. Bad night at bondage central?”

“Stellar night. Poor finish.”

“Whoa, you didn’t! I told you it had been too long.”

“I didn’t mean me. I mean, not that way.” Jaime said defensively, “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t, because you never do. You are a solitary soul who keeps to his own counsel and needs no one to tell him whether he’s really too full of himself or can just go get fucked. _Did you_?”

“Did I what?” Jaime said, putting his head back as the buzz from the wine swirled pleasantly through him.

“Did you just get fucked?”

Jaime smiled grimly, “No, I turned that honor down.”

“Whoa. This is serious. Good thing you’re already on my couch for some serious therapy.”

“Not talking. Why isn’t Tysha here, again?”

“Changing the subject isn’t going to work. Drink up; your tongue needs loosening.”

 _It already got a workout tonight_ , Jaime thought, and drained off half his glass, the memory of Sapphire’s low moans, the way she’d tasted, sending a melancholy ache all the way down to his toes. He closed his eyes, “I told you, I don’t want –“

“To talk about it. But you do. Was it the same girl? The tall one? Or did you take my excellent advice and shop around?” Tyrion said, getting up to pour more wine in their glasses. 

“Your ‘excellent advice,’” Jaime mocked, “’Join a bondage club, it’s entirely anonymous.’ Yes, thank you for that.”

“Whoa, did she recognize you? You haven’t been in the papers for a long time, but you _are_ pretty distinctive. Not as distinctive as me…” Tyrion leaned forward, concerned, “Do you think she’ll talk to the tabloids?”

“No, she didn’t recognize me. And she wouldn’t do that; she’s got class. She knows nearly as much about whisky as me.” Jaime sighed, _or maybe even as much as I do_.

“Because a love of whisky always means someone is to be trusted. Guess all those drunken outlaws in old Westeros were just robbing banks for the fun of it.” Tyrion chuckled, “But seriously, a woman who has your fascination for whisky. That’s, um, _rare_. And maybe just a little scary. So you were with the same woman again, you already think you know something about her. Didn’t you say you didn’t want to hurt her feelings by taking a different partner? Is that what happened, you hurt her feelings and you’re feeling like a proper Lannister shit?”

“No, I didn’t hurt her feelings or take a different partner. Now leave me alone.”

“So this Emerald, you partnered with her again and something didn’t work out according to plan.”

“Sapphire.”

“Oh, right, she of the beautiful blue eyes. _Sapphire_ ,” Tyrion drew out the name, and Jaime opened his eyes to glare at him. “Oh, Jaime. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the first woman you met there. I should have known. Gods, like your thing with Cersei wasn’t enough to teach you that you don’t put all your dragon eggs in the same fire. The Stranger knows Cersei sure didn’t.”

“Shut up. I did not ‘fall for her.’ I just…I wanted to…she – Why am I even talking to you? I _like_ her, all right?”

“And you’re scared, because you haven’t liked anyone in a long time. I understand.”

“No. You don’t. I was fine. I wanted her to be my paramour for the whole season, but she said we shouldn’t ‘commit’ to that.”

“Whoa! A girl rejected Jaime Lannister! Smallfolk Magazine’s seventh most eligible bachelor of seven years ago has lost his touch.” Tyrion sat back and hooted.

“See, this is why I don’t want to talk about it, Tyrion. It’s all a joke to you.”

“So I’m right, then?” Tyrion crowed. “She could have rejected you for a lot of reasons brother. Maybe she’s married and never got a chance to try out different men, and wants to explore what the world has to offer. Probably told hubby she’s going out to her book club to read Pride and Prejudice with the girls. Speaking of which, if I had a silver dragon for every woman I’ve met with a Mr. Darcy fetish…Maybe you should try that! How soon can you grow sideburns?”

Jaime laughed, “Sideburns. Never thought of that. But no, she blew me off with some crap about already being in too deep, and how we could never get to know each other because it would be too difficult when the season ended. I felt like a seven-damned fool.”

“Well, she’s right, you know. The club is very strict about anonymity. Unless you planned to meet again the next season, all you’ve joined up for is sex with strangers. At least, I thought that’s what you were signed up for.”

“That’s all I’m signed up for, Tyrion.  But what’s wrong with sharing that time with someone you’re compatible with and attracted to? I guess she just isn’t into me.”

“She really said she was ‘in too deep’?” Tyrion asked, “What did you say?”

“Nothing really. I just got dressed and left her with her friend. Oh, and I told her I’d see her there next week.”

“But if you won’t be paramours, then –“

“She didn’t say we couldn’t be paramours. She said we could ‘play it by ear.’” Jaime said, draining his glass again and setting it on the table, “Maybe I do want whisky.”

“So she didn’t say ‘no.’ In fact, she told you she was into you, too.”

“Letting me down easy,” Jaime confirmed, pouring a tumbler of the Stormlands whisky.

“You’re an idiot. You like each other, but she’s smart enough to see how bad that is and doesn’t want to get hurt.”

“So? What’s to stop me from getting her number at the end of the season and taking her out? I mean, if I want to.” 

“Aside from it being against the rules? Maybe she has reasons for staying anonymous. Or she just has a little more honor than you do when it comes to playing by the rules. Maybe she’s just realistic and knows falling for someone who’d join an anonymous sex club is a poor choice for becoming attached.”

Jaime sipped his whisky, “You know I have shit for honor, Tyrion. What’s to stop me from finding out who she is?”

“Aside from it being sneaky and maybe a little creepy? It would be damn hard to do, Jaime. The club is very good at protecting its members from that kind of thing. How would you even go about it? Where would you start?” Tyrion leaned forward again, his eyes alight.

“Well, she has this tattoo…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry for the huge, unexpected health-related delay (everything is okay now). Thank you for sticking with us.
> 
> Poor Jaime...is he ever going to feel awful in the morning from mixing wine and whisky! Wonder how Brienne is handling the fallout from her attempt to keep things casual between her and Leo?


	13. Aurochs and Warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Leo gone for the night, Brienne and Margaery meet some interesting men.

“Goodbye, Sapphire.” Leo said, meeting her eyes for the first time since he’d angrily left her in bed to go wash off any trace of their night together. His reaction to her suggestion about keeping things casual had been unexpected. Didn’t men mostly want a woman who was willing in bed but detached out of it? It seemed the lion was showing his claws, pouting because he wouldn’t be keeping her to himself. Brienne had always believed that possessive men were even worse than the ones who ran at the first hint of attachment.  Their jealousy was usually a clue to their own roving eye and an assumption that a woman couldn’t be faithful, either.

Knowing Leo was, at best, arrogant in his assumptions and, at worst, a dangerous psychopath, did little to ease the sting of rejection Brienne felt. His cold formality in walking her to the ballroom, there to be rid of her at the first opportunity, made what they’d shared a mockery, and she regretted the risk she’d taken in letting down her guard. When she’d looked at him, her only intention was to show him how little she cared for his regard.

But his eyes had unexpectedly caught at hers, and against her will she found herself as drawn to him as she’d been from the beginning. The color rose in his face as he stuttered out some banal farewell that Brienne barely made out over the thudding of her heart. Leo’s lips against her hot cheek –her cheek! – were a timely reminder that their brief connection was at an end. 

Denying herself the urge to watch his retreating backside, she turned to Margaery and Crow and smiled. “Did I miss anything?” she asked cheerfully.

“The creamed aurochs is amazing,” Crow told her. He held out a small dish with three crackers smeared with a brownish substance on it, “Here, try one.”

“Aren’t aurochs endangered?” She asked, tilting her head at him curiously.

“I didn’t think so,” Crow told her doubtfully, looking down at the suspect meat, “Maybe these are farm raised?”

“That’s probably it,” Brienne agreed, taking a cracker from his plate. Margaery was looking at her in concern, but Crow was completely taken in by her ordinary demeanor. She’d had plenty of practice hiding her humiliation over the years, and as she continued to chat with the couple about the food and the plight of the wild aurochs (almost all of it invented on the spot), she felt herself relax. Within moments they were joined by another man in an actual aurochs mask and a fur loin cloth, and the stifled mirth of the moment helped in putting Leo out of her mind. 

The aurochs was followed by other men who heard her animated laughter and noticed that the man in the lion mask who’d been monopolizing her had disappeared. She was soon surrounded by all manner of men in masks ranging from elaborate creatures, personal interests like music, and more than one playing at being a deity. At one point there were two men in similar Warrior masks who nearly got into a tussle. Margaery flashed her dimples at them and said there could never be too many Warriors as far as she was concerned, and in moments Crow was the one spoiling for a fight. The timely appearance of Wildling on the other side of the room, sans partner, had him taking the shortest route to talk to her instead. 

“As the crow flies,” Margaery said in a good-natured aside to Brienne, and continued to assess the abundance of men to choose from.

Soon another man dressed as a warrior joined their group, this one actually doing the costume some justice. Despite her heels, the man was still two or three inches taller than Brienne, and far broader. A well-muscled chest was set off by the metal plates he wore over his shoulders and the padded steel collar around his neck, though his gut spoke of a love of fatty meats and beer, if she were to hazard a guess.

“Nice gorget,” Brienne said, looking up into his eyes.  To her great surprise, the man had a large burn scar that came from just where his helmet’s left eye hole ended and flowed down the side of his neck like cooled lava. 

“Not many here who’d know what a gorget was,” he replied in a slow, thick voice. His blue eyes, even shadowed by the mask, were pale. 

“And fewer who’d care, I imagine,” Brienne said, looking him over, “Your costume would be perfect for the Burning Warrior festival. Heard of it?”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he said, sneering around surprisingly good teeth.

“I…” Brienne grimaced, her gut clenching in embarrassment, “That is stage makeup, isn’t it?” She asked hopefully.

“No. I was burned.”

“I’m so sorry,” Brienne gasped, “That was incredibly insensitive of me to –“

“Don’t be sorry. Long time ago.”

“Still… I’m Sapphire,” she said, offering her hand.

“Doog.” He took her fingers in his enormous palm and squeezed them.

“Doug?”

“Doooog,” he enunciated.

“Doing? Doinging?” _Dung_?      

“Do you hear an ‘n’ in there? _Doog_.” He put his forearms up in front of his chest, his hands hanging down limply, “You know, ‘woof, woof.’”

“Oh!” Brienne laughed in relief, “I couldn’t make it out with your accent. Dog.”

“I don’t have an accent.” Dog said, and she heard that clearly enough.

“But it sounds like the Southern –“

“It’s a speech impediment.” He rubbed at the scar curving around the side of his mouth, “See? Some words are harder for me.”

_Shit_. “Again, I have put my foot in my mouth,” Brienne said, wondering when the floor would open up and take her to the seven hells.

“Maybe later you can put it in _my_ mouth.”

“I…okay.” She said, stepping back a bit. Was this an act or was this guy really this creepy? “Well, it was nice to meet you, Dog. I’m afraid my friend and I were just leaving.”

“You mean the one letting the man with the bear mask stick his tongue down her throat?”

Brienne looked around; her blush so hot she feared it was her turn to catch fire.

Dog laughed shortly, “Looks like he’s trying to find honey, he’s into her so deep.”

Margaery was engaged in a heated embrace with the man in question, her fingers tangled in his wild red hair, looking like she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. 

While Brienne worked out a response to her latest blunder, Dog addressed her again, “What are you hiding?”

“Hiding?”

“Your mask. You got a scar, too?”

Brienne raised her hand to the curving cheek piece of her mask, startled, “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“So you think scars should be hid, huh?”

“Now you’re placing words in my mouth,” she said primly.

“You’re a big girl; you can take it.” He said, his teeth flashing through his sparse beard, “I mean, in the mouth.” He smiled at his own cleverness. 

“Yes, well…” _did he see me with Stormcrow the first week? Oh, gods_. She reached out to grab Marge’s arm, “Rose, do you remember I have to be up early tomorrow? Rose?”

“Mm,” Marge said, disengaging with Bearlover, “Oh, I’m sorry, Sapphire. Hello, who is this?”

“Dog,” Brienne said, “This is my friend, Rose.”

Margaery looked up. And up. And then down to his armored crotch piece. Her eyebrows and eyes went back up. 

“I think you win the Warrior prize for the evening,” she said, her smile coy, “Quite fierce, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so.”

“Rose…really, we need to go!”

Marge looked back down to the metal curving over Dog’s equipment. “Doesn’t that hurt when you get excited?” 

“It’s hinged.”

“For convenience.” Margaery nodded.

“And safety.” Dog confirmed, looking between the two women, “So, either of you committed for the big event next week?”

“I haven’t made a decision yet, but I think Sapphire might be taken.” Marge looked at Brienne, trying to read what had happened with Leo.

“Yes,” Brienne rushed to add, “Taken.”

“Too bad. With the lion man? Well, if you change your mind I’d be happy to keep both you ladies satisfied.”

Brienne stifled her retort. Something about Dog made her more inclined to hit than kiss him, much less allow anything intimate. 

“Sorry, we don’t share.”

“No? Guess I’m all yours, Rose.” 

Before her friend could reply, Brienne had grabbed her hand and started for the exit, “She’ll keep that in mind. Come on Rose, I really need to go home.”

Margaery shrugged her shoulders at Dog and Bearlover, who’d been watching the exchange with amusement, and let herself be led out of the ballroom. Once they were away from other members Brienne released her hand. 

“Ugh! Why were you flirting with that Dog guy? He’s horrible.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marge said, “I thought that whole beast thing he’s got going on is pretty sexy.”

“He’s coarse, overbearing and smug.”

“Part of the package, sweetling. Now why did your lion prince run off so early? Your goodbye was so intense I felt the heat from where I was standing.”

“Intense? Marge, he kissed me on the cheek! I think we’re through. He was really mad when I didn’t agree to be his paramour for the whole Season.”

“He asked for the whole Season? That’s wonderful!”

“Are you even listening? I told him ‘no,’ and now he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Brie, setting aside the notion that you would turn him down, because you’re an idiot like that, the way he looked at you, and the way you were looking at him, tells me you’re not done with each other.”

“He walked out. He kissed my cheek and left early. I told him we could decide if we wanted to be together again next week and he got colder than a White Walker in an endless winter.”

“And he said he looked forward to seeing you next week,”

“He did?”

“Brienne, what am I going to do with you? It was like watching two little kids with their first crush, trying to decide if they still hated each other.” Marge pretended to swoon, “Oh, the drama! The angst!”

“It’s not funny,” Brienne protested, opening the door to the foyer for them, “He said he ‘looked forward to seeing’ me?”

“I think he’s yours, unless you want to go with the big Dog instead. Jealousy _is_ a powerful aphrodisiac.”

“Ew. No. How does someone like that even have the money to join a club like this?”

“Maybe his wife sponsored him so she could take a break? Or he could be a mercenary assassin who does dastardly deeds the other six nights of the week. No, he probably comes from money. Being rich does not guarantee charm, Brienne. “

“No. I know that. Will you go with him?”

“Who can say?  I’ll see how I feel next Thursday. But tonight: tell me how it went for you and Leo. Was it good? You stepped away early and were gone for a long time.”

“It was…” Brienne sighed, looked up at the high ceilings, absently noting the painted scenes picked out in gold leaf, “Unforgettable.” She shook her head, troubled by the yearning she felt for him even now. 

Margaery opened her mouth to ask for details, but was interrupted by a valet announcing the arrival of her car.  The two women went out into the night air, fragrant with honeysuckle and lavender blooming nearby, and were soon on the road down to the sea, windows up against the smell of low tide.

“So it was good,” Marge confirmed, “And naturally you decided that was a problem.”

“It is a problem. Not because it was good; I just can’t seem to stop thinking of him as a person. Why can’t he just be sexy without being intelligent, perceptive and…and…”

“Available?”

“Available _briefly_. I don’t need or want to fall for him. I thought this whole anonymity thing would make it safe to just have a good time.”

“ _Did_ you have a good time, in private?”

“Oh, gods, it was perfect.”

“Would it have been perfect without the way you’re starting to feel about him?” Marge glanced over, but Brienne was staring out the window at the dark ocean, her reflection showing how dejected she felt.

“It would have been more fun, maybe?” she finally whispered, twisting the fine blond hairs on her neck around one finger.  

“And next week, do you want to fuck him?” Margaery asked, her tone softening the blunt question, “I mean, if you haven’t already.” 

“No.”

“No, you haven’t? No, you don’t want to?”

“We haven’t. He didn’t want to.”

“Uh oh. Really?”

“He said he wanted to wait, to, what did he say? He wanted us to get to know each other better.”

“Great, I get you to join a sex club and you find the only gods-forsaken chivalrous cunt tease in the known world.”

“No, he’s not,” Brienne turned to look at Margaery, “He’s just, maybe, a bit romantic.”

“You’re defending him.”

“It’s not his fault that I can’t just enjoy the time we have.”

“And you can’t because…?”

“Because I don’t want to fall for him and then have it all end.”

“Isn’t that what happens in most normal relationships, Brie? You take a chance, eventually it ends. Often in far less than twelve weeks, and with a lot more effort wasted. This way you can give yourself over to having a good time, realizing that it will end at a certain point; like a good book or an amazing vacation. You’ll miss it when it’s over, but you won’t have all of the regrets and second-guessing of a real relationship. You don’t avoid the book or the trip just because you know it won’t last forever.”

“You’re right. But I’m not spontaneous like you.”

“But you’re learning.”

“You’re an excellent teacher.”

“I know. So if you both want to be together next week, try not to worry. Enjoy him. If you want to, say ‘yes’ next time he asks you for the Season. If not, don’t.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is.”

“I’ll try to remember that, Marge. Thanks. Now tell me about your night.”

The rest of the drive home was lightened by the humorous account Margaery gave of trying to get Crow to smile and loosen up.

“Honestly, he’s good at what he does, but he’s so damned serious. Gods forbid he tickles you with that little beard of us; he positively glowered when I got the giggles as he tried to Dominate me. He’s got a fine smolder, but sometimes the things we do in the club verge on the ridiculous. It helps to have a sense of humor.”

“I noticed he was eager to talk to Wildling at the end of the night,” Brienne ventured.

“Luckily. She’s a bit serious as well. I’d hate to hurt his feelings. He’d look like a kicked puppy, and you know how I like dogs.”

“Even the big dumb ones?”

“Oh, him. He could surprise you. Besides, fucking doesn’t take a lot of thought.” Margaery pulled up in Brienne’s driveway and turned to smirk at her, “At least for most of us it doesn’t.”

“Good night, Margaery. I’ll call you later.” Brienne got out of the car smiling at her friend’s dig and went inside. Grumkin jumped out of the window and ran to meet her at the door.

Quickly slipping out of her heels and shucking off the tiny skirt, she went into the kitchen, the cat leading the way, weaving in front of her as though he wanted to be stepped on. Brienne opened a tin of Fishy Feast and let it glop onto a plate next to his water bowl. With the cat distracted, she walked back to her bedroom, flung her small evening bag on the bed and began unlacing her bodice. It had been a much more efficient operation when Leo had taken it off for her, she recalled, folding it over a chair by her small desk. She flopped onto the bed in nothing but her knickers. She was tempted to sleep that way, the scent of Leo still on her skin, the memory of his touch to keep her warm.

It might be that Margaery was correct, and she _could_ just have a good time. After all, what was the alternative? Dog? Kraken? Bearlover and his sticky tongue? With a snort of laughter, Brienne opened her little purse and pulled out her phone. She’d missed a call.

**Hyle Hunt** , the name stood out in green text below a blurry picture of a dark-haired man sticking his tongue out. Speak of the alternative. She slid her thumb down to the voicemail option and put the phone on speaker.

“Brie, it’s Hyle. Listen, I’m going to keep calling until you call me back. I’d really like to take you out again. I know you said you don’t want to really date right now, but hey, we don’t have to say we’re dating. We’ll have fun anyway, right? So nothing serious. We’ll go out and see where it leads – your place or mine.” Hyle chuckled, then added, “There’s a restaurant on the bay, and I think you’ll like their carrot cake. They’re known for it. Then you can ply me with whisky if you want. Call me.”

Brienne pressed the button to save and then ended the recording. Hyle. He was a hot mess, but maybe he’d help her to keep from getting too wrapped up in her fantasies of the man in the lion mask. One thing she’d found when she was with Hyle; there was little need to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know, you were hoping for smut. I'm afraid the past chapters will have to do for now. Next up will be Jaime's POV as he sorts out his feelings and makes his first attempts to find Sapphire. Will there be smut? Possibly.
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving comments!


	14. In Too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV: From Friday morning to Thursday night, Jaime tries to deal with his feelings on the Sapphire Situation and other things that pop up.
> 
> 10,000 words. Romance, angst, some smut, banking, whisky and cat tattoos. Not necessarily in that order. Also something that might or might not make you grit your teeth and call us names.

The taste in his mouth was somewhere between delivery pizza and stomach acid. Jaime was, for once, glad to be waking up alone. Alone but for Tyrion’s old dog, who was lying on his chest. Her breath was even worse than his must be.  He wrapped an arm around the small hound and lowered her to the floor, careful to support her long back.

“How’d you even get up here?” he mumbled, pulling the soft blanket up to his chin and turning over to face the back of the couch. His head was throbbing from mixing wine and whisky, and his eyes felt gritty from too little sleep. He reached under the cover to retrieve his phone from his pocket, but found he was wearing only his briefs. 

Jaime turned over again and propped himself on an elbow. His pants and shirt were crumpled on the floor. Picking up his phone from the table, he activated the screen: 7:30 in the morning. Too late to drive home and get dressed before work, but he had a couple of clean suits in Tyrion’s guest room. 

He sat up, stretching and yawning. Something cool and wet touched his shin, and he looked down at the short dog standing patiently next to the couch, wagging her tail and pressing her nose against him. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping with your master, huh?” he said, leaning down to pat her head.

“Given the choice,” Tyrion said, strolling into the room in his custom super hero pajamas, “the girls always seem to choose you over me. I’ve never understood it. C’mere, Visenya; he’s taken.”

“Taken? What do you mean?”

Tyrion sat on the floor and the dog wriggled into his lap with a happy _whuff_.  “Yes,” he told the dog as he rubbed her floppy ears, “by the girl with unremarkable teats. What’s that? I don’t know, but I’ll ask him.” Tyrion turned a considering look on his brother, “Vissy wants to know if she still has a chance to win your heart.”

“Maybe. If she brushes her teeth first.”

“She just woke up! I’m sure you don’t smell like a field of daisies this morning, either.”

Jaime blew onto his wrist and then sniffed, “Yuck. What kind of pizza was that you ordered last night?”

“I tried that new Dothraki place. They’re the only ones still delivering at three in the morning. We got their special, the Lamekh and sausage with fennel.”

“Mare’s milk cheese? I’m afraid to ask what was in the sausage.”

“Best you don’t,” Tyrion advised him, gently lifting Visenya off his lap and rising, “You going in to work today? You look like you could use a day off. We could visit a few tattoo parlors, hit the beach…”

“Tattoo parlors? Why?”

Because you want to stalk – I’m sorry – find this girl of yours. You said she has a tattoo. Where else would you look?”

“Sure, that wouldn’t be creepy at all, Tyrion. ‘Hi, I’m looking for a woman who has a cat tattoo in a rather private place. No, I don’t know her name, but while we were naked together I happened to notice it.’”

“Great! I’ll just get dressed. We can grab something to eat while we’re out.”

“I’m going to the bank. We still have that Tully loan proposal to analyze.”

“They can wait.” Tyrion pouted, “You used to be fun.”

“Did I?” 

“No, but there’s still time. How are you going to find out about her tattoo, then?”

“I don’t know. Last night it seemed like a good idea to find out who Sapphire is, but now it just makes me seem sleazy.”

“So what else is new? Everyone already thinks you’re a sleaze.”

“No, everyone thinks I’m an asshole. They’re different.” Jaime picked up his pants, shirt and phone, and started walking to the door, “I’m going to take a shower.”

“So that’s it? You’re going to give up on Sapphire?” Tyrion said, following him out of the den, “Probably for the best anyway. You never know what you’d be getting involved with. Hell, you probably won’t even get to be with her again, assuming that she, too, knows you’re an asshole after last night.”

Jaime stopped and turned to look down at Tyrion, “She doesn’t…oh gods, she probably does think I’m an asshole. Shit.”

“Well, you wanted her to know you better.”

“Not like that, Tyrion.”

“Women like bad men, right? She could be more interested than ever.”

Jaime recalled Sapphire’s eyes, red-rimmed and sad. She’d given him everything but a simple commitment, and he’d acted like a spoiled child, leaving her behind like a rejected plaything. 

Running his hand through his hair, Jaime considered his brother. “I really messed things up, didn’t I? I doubt she’ll even speak to me again.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to _talk_ –” Tyrion leered.

Jaime frowned, unwilling to explain how much he enjoyed listening to Sapphire and about all of the questions he wanted her to answer. He shook his head and turned to go into the guest suite.  

He shut the door and threw his things on the bed. In the bathroom he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked rough, and he felt shaky. His normally short stubble seemed to have grown an inch overnight, making him appear even more disheveled. Discarding the notion of trimming his beard, he stepped into the steaming water, wishing he hadn’t washed Sapphire’s scent off the night before. 

Jaime hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how it felt to be with her in bed, especially the memory of how passionately she’d kissed him when he’d coaxed her to come a second time. He yearned to have her in his arms again, to hold her as she slept, sated and trusting. 

Jaime smacked the flat of his hand against the shower tile in frustration. _Will she ever trust me again_? _Will I ever get the chance to show her she still can_? 

Jaime rushed to finish washing and turned off the spray, skimming excess water off himself with his hands before stepping out to get a towel. 

_I’ll go to work and not think about last night,_ he decided, taking a suit still shrouded in the dry cleaner’s bag from the closet. _I wish I could call her, though, or send chocolates or a singing minstrel to serenade her at work…wherever she works, if she has a job_ , _to tell her I’m sorry for being such a dickhead_. 

“I’ll see you at the office,” he called as he walked past Tyrion’s bedroom, not waiting for a response.

Twenty minutes later he was downtown, easing the Shadowcat through Friday morning traffic and wondering if anyone would miss him if he took the day off after all. He could pass Casterly Bank and keep going, drive until the city gave way to houses, then to run-down shacks where old surfers passed their nights waiting for the sun to rise and waves to beckon.  

Turning into the dimness of the underground garage, he felt the weight of the old building above him, shutting out the sun. Maybe someday he’d get a place on the coast, a stretch of beach where he could walk on the sand. _Watch sunsets, hold hands_ … _for gods’ sake, it sounds like I’m composing_ _a pathetic personal ad for the Lonely Assholes Club,_ he thought in disgust. 

Jaime got into the elevator and pushed the button for his floor. As the elevator rose his mood fell further. He stepped out into the bustle of business as usual and forced a pleasant expression as he greeted his employees. This was his life, his place, but his tread felt heavy as he walked across the lobby. 

“Coffee, Ser?” his assistant asked from the desk outside Jaime’s office.

“Please. Order up some breakfast, too, would you? Something greasy with lots of bacon.”

“Rough night?” Peck was one of the few who would dare ask Mr. Lannister a personal question.

“You might say that,” Jaime said, going into his office and shutting the door. 

His briefcase was where he’d left it, no more compelling now than it had been last night. Sitting down in his chair, Jaime consciously avoided glancing at the old clock. It was bad enough to watch it tick away the minutes when he had something to look forward.

He woke up his computer and checked his corporate email, forwarding a few to Peck to answer. Routine never bothered the lad, but it made Jaime itch under the collar to type out the same answers and platitudes again and again. He took a moment to check the Whisky Lovers board, hoping for a distraction. An old thread about whether or not to swirl whisky before nosing it was still going strong. Jaime had kept up with it for a while just to laugh at stodgy old guys getting their briefs in a bunch over the issue. 

He checked to see if there were any new posts to a thread he’d started a week or two ago: 

**20:13: CaskSlayer:**   Recently, as I was enjoying a glass of 50 year-old Blackfyre, my brother asked why I don’t always cellar my “collector’s” vintages, leaving them sealed and valuable. When I was younger, I used to buy a lot of bottles that seemed too rare and costly to drink. Now I’d rather enjoy them as I acquire them. I know many of you have large collections stored away; do you feel you get more enjoyment from knowing something so pricey and sought-after is yours than you would experiencing the taste and nose for yourself? 

There was one new response, posted at 3:16 that morning:

**03:16: Whisky_Peat** : As someone with only a small collection of fine, unopened bottles myself, I do save some because I (perhaps unrealistically) always hoped to open them with someone who would appreciate the whisky as much as I do. I savor the memory of finding each bottle; it would be nice to add to the experience the first time I drink it.

Jaime re-read Whisky Peat’s response a couple of times, struck by the naiveté of a man who would save a bottle in the hopes of finding a woman with the capacity to appreciate it. Maybe Peat was just hoping for another man, a buddy, to share it with. He’d always suspected the old codgers on the board were a bunch of lonely, over-sophisticated oddballs. 

Jaime thought he’d never be foolish enough save a rare bottle, just hoping for someone he cared for to share his love of whisky. _Sapphire would._ Jaime smiled at the thought of opening a bottle together to celebrate a special occasion like Winterfest or even something as inane as a one month anniversary. The idea was tempered immediately by a small ache in his chest at the impossibility of it. He was as bad as Whisky Peat for harboring vain hopes.

He typed in a response:

**09:21: CaskSlayer** : Peat, what if you never find someone special enough to share those bottles? Will you call for them along with a whisky glass on your deathbed? Or leave them to your kin to sell at auction when you’re gone? Or worse, to drink it in a jelly jar with ice and cola?

Whisky Peat must be online, too, because his response was almost immediate:

**09:24: Whisky_Peat** : You’re right this time, Slayer. Cynicism always rules the day, doesn’t it? I think I’ll go ahead and open one of those bottles tonight. There’s no sense in waiting.

Jaime should have felt vindicated, but Peat’s response made him feel mean for mocking the older man’s hopes. The Seven knew there was little enough optimism around as it was.

He opened a new tab and typed _cat tattoo_ in the search box, selecting _Images_ when the search results came up. The page filled with a stunning variety of tattoos. To narrow it down, he added _pelvis_ to the search term. Hundreds, thousands, of images filled the page, most of near-naked women, and more than a few men, showing off their tattoos. Only about a quarter of them seemed to be cat-related.  Jaime scrolled through them gamely, by turns amused, aroused and revolted by how willingly people exposed their lower body tattoos. By the time he’d gone through three pages he knew he’d never find Sapphire there. 

He deleted _pelvis_ and typed _black_ instead. Cat silhouettes filled the screen. _Was the cat all black? No, it had markings like her mask_ , he remembered. Much as he’d enjoyed seeing her ink, he hadn’t thought to memorize it. He typed in _cat tattoo mask_ and came up with a page of tattoos featuring cats in masks. 

Discouraged, he sat back and tried to picture what he was looking for, but the welter of images of their evening together refused to untangle. Looking for a specific cat tattoo on the internet was as fruitless a search as typing in “astonishing blue eyes” and expecting to see hers come up. He’d know _them_ anywhere, if he knew where to look, but the tattoo wasn’t burned into his memory with the same intensity. 

Peck knocked on Jaime’s door, calling “Ser? Breakfast.”

“Come in,” Jaime said, clearing a space.

Walking around the desk to put the container of food and coffee cup down, Peck glanced at Jaime’s computer screen. 

“Thinking of getting a cat, Ser?”

“No, a tattoo.” Jaime said, closing the browser.

“ _Of_ a cat, Ser?”

“Actually, it’s for Tyrion. He’s always wanted a cat but I convinced him he’d be happier with a tattoo.”

“Well, they do last longer, Ser,” Peck said, unsure if his boss were being facetious. 

“True,” Jaime said, picking up the fork. “Thank you, Peck. Let me know if anything needs my attention today.”

Jaime found his breakfast strangely tasteless, though it did help to settle his stomach. He was fond of drinking, but didn’t have Tyrion’s constitution for it. Hung over or not, he had work to do, and hours to fill.  He picked up the Tully file and began writing notes in the margins of the loan proposal: questions, statements, scribbled figures. 

Time passed slowly, but pass it did. He managed to think about the club and Sapphire only a few times an hour. Tyrion came in sometime after noon and, in between discussing the Tully file, managed a few innuendos about why Jaime was so distracted. Threatening to have him removed from his office by the security team had the usual effect of making his behavior worse.

By three in the afternoon, both men were yawning and anxious to be done for the day. 

“So, do we fund them?” Tyrion asked, “It does seem low risk to us, and if the venture fails we only increase our own portfolio.”

“I can’t find a real reason to reject it,” Jaime admitted. “Ask for some additional collateral, though. From Winterfell, not Riverrun. Something to make it worth dealing with the Starks now that they’re involved. I always hated Ned Stark.”

“He was prone to losing his head over the least thing,” Tyrion said.

“That’s in poor taste even for you. Lousy way to die, decapitation. The old bastard was never going to go in his sleep, but an industrial accident probably wasn’t what he’d expected.”

“Barbaric, really,” Tyrion agreed, smiling up at Jaime. They’d both hated the Stark patriarch, nearly as much as he’d hated them. 

“I’m for home then,” Jaime said, putting his suit jacket back on. 

“Plans for the weekend? I mean besides…” Tyrion made a crude hand gesture.

Jaime ignored it. “New project car to work on.”

“Planning to drive this one when it’s finished?” Tyrion asked, lowering his chair and standing.

“Sure. I never like them as well as the Shadowcat, but I’m open to a new favorite. What are you doing this weekend?”

“Tysha’s flying back in tonight. I’ll take her straight to bed and look at bridal magazines with her,” Tyrion sighed, “But that’s just the foreplay these days. Never seen a woman get so revved up over satin and lace that you _can’t_ rip off of her.”

Jaime chuckled, “Talk to you later, then. Dad’s been making noises about seeing us one of these days, so I’ll be turning off my phone. Send me an email if you need me.”

“He still not doing the email thing?”

“Fortunately.”

Tyrion turned to go to his office and Jaime told Peck he’d be leaving early and gave him permission to do so as well. 

Traffic was light this early in the day and Jaime made good time getting home. He left his mask where he’d thrown it in the back seat of the car on Thursday night and went inside. His tie and jacket hit the floor of the hallway before he’d even reached his own lion’s den.

 He selected an unopened bottle of whisky from his bar, examining the label for a moment, and thinking about his thread on Whisky Lovers. Someone else had posted later in the day, suggesting that Peat was needlessly picky about who to share his whisky with, and chiding Jaime about not properly cellaring his. 

Jaime _had_ been been thinking about Sapphire when he’d purchased this bottle. He’d put it on the shelf intending to bring it to the club sometime to share with her. Even now he could picture her eyes lighting up as she tried it, could hear her warm voice as she described the taste. That led to recalling how she’d licked whisky off his cock the night before and he groaned, frustration mingled with the blood rushing south from his head so fast he had to lean against the bar to avoid swaying.

_Fuck it_ ; he pulled the stopper, ripping the seal. He poured a generous amount in a glass and raised it briefly, “Here’s to you, Whisky Peat, and to all of us who drink alone.”

He took a large gulp, the strong smell wafting into his nose. He deliberately swallowed without savoring the wildly expensive whisky. There would be time to enjoy it later, if he wanted to. He took the bottle and his glass and set them on the table in front of his sofa. Stripping to his grey boxer briefs, Jaime settled onto the overstuffed couch, feeling the sunlight that slanted in through the big windows warm on his skin and hair. The light caught at the heart of the whisky glass and made it glow like something enchanted.

Picking it up, Jaime took another drink and then held it on his stomach, watching the rays wake amber crystals from its depths and scatter them in the darkening room. The light slowly faded,  leaving it a murky gold. He finished it and poured another. 

_Why is whisky so often thought of as a dark drink, something to be enjoyed only at night, in drawing rooms painted deep red, forest green, or dingy brown?_ Jaime wished he was able to see Sapphire in sunlight, to share a moment at the end of the day like this. _Maybe she belongs to darkness like the whisky; a woman full of secrets, seen only at night. Intoxicating._

Even through the haze of inebriation closing in on him, Jaime realized he was thinking about her too much. No, _feeling_ too much. He thought he’d left this kind of vulnerability behind when he got over Cersei. 

_Have I gotten over Cersei_? He couldn’t chase down the exact moment or even the month, but suddenly he was sure he had. He still thought about her at times, but with a start he realized he no longer _felt_ much of anything about her. Even the lingering anger had faded.

Maybe obsessing on another woman was just a way to fill the empty space that Cersei had occupied for so much of his life. There was no harm in it, was there? So long as he took Sapphire’s advice and didn’t get in too deep. _She’s right, it’s better to have no expectations. Just have…fun._

Jaime finished the second tumbler of whisky, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He set his glass on the table and relaxed into the couch. _Fun, that’s all it is._

_So why does it feel so shitty?_

_~*~*~*~*_  
Jaime slept for several hours, waking up with an empty belly and a powerful need to pee. After he’d taken care of the latter, he went to the kitchen. Standing on the cold tile looking into the near empty refrigerator, he cursed himself for forgetting to order groceries, again. After moving the condiments and shriveled vegetables around for a while, he shut the door and got a bag of crisps from the pantry. Just what every well-heeled bachelor wanted to eat with a glass of good whisky. Maybe this time he’d even stop to swirl the bag and sniff the crisps.

The clock above the stove showed it was a few hours before sunrise. He decided to carry his snack and booze upstairs to enjoy in bed. _Such decadence_. He laughed to think of how many people probably assumed his privileged life meant he never ate _graddakh_ or slept alone.

Once in bed, with the comforter wrapped around him and a whisky in his hand, he stopped feeling sorry for himself. There were worse ways to spend the wee hours than this. He sipped the whisky and took his tablet out of the nightstand. 

His email was dull, including a variety of off-colour memes Tyrion had sent. _Doesn’t he have better things to do with Tysha back in town_? Jaime opened the crisps, popping one in his mouth and chasing it with the whisky.

_Not bad_.

_Horrible, in fact_.

He drank more hoping to wash the taste from his mouth. He brought up the Whisky Lovers page. 

And soon found a post labeled “Food Pairings.” He read a few entries; the usual choices: toffee, pork, scallops wrapped in bacon. No crisps. Jaime wondered if he should post an essay on whisky and crisp pairings. If he was lucky, at least a few of the guys would take it seriously and report back on their own findings in a few days.

He scrolled down, looking for something to take his mind off his ill-considered culinary choices. He laughed out loud when he read a new post by Whisky Peat which asserted that aging whisky in herring barrels gave it a finish like being slapped with a wet kipper. Who would think to age whisky in a barrel that had previously held fish? 

There were also a few new replies to his thread:

**21:28:** **WhiskGeek** : I think all of us have had a disappointing “share” with our best whiskies at some time or other. Now I discreetly pour the better vintage for myself and a lesser one for my guests, since they won’t know the difference.

_Cretin_. _How would anyone learn to like it if they never got the good stuff?_

**22:56: Whisky_Peat** : That’s a pretty vile trick, Geek. If educating them fails, at least man up and either give them the good stuff or drink what you’re willing to serve them.

**23:13: WhiskGeek** : I understand now why you end up drinking alone, Peat. ;-)

**03:25: Whisky Peat** : Better that then drnkg with some peple I know, geek.

Jaime had seen this happen before: the later it was, the worse the spelling. He’d been guilty of it himself after a glass or six. Peat had posted only fifteen minutes earlier. He rarely interacted one on one with board members, but he decided to send Peat an Instant Message.

**03:42: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : So did you open that bottle you were saving?

He drained his glass and popped a crisp in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe he could learn to like them together.

Nope. He got up to rinse his mouth with water. When he got back in bed he had a message:

**03:48: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : Yeh. Its prtty good. 

**03:52: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : Did you kill the whole bottle?

**03:53: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : Theresome left. out of chocolates tho.

It took several minutes for Jaime to produce a correctly spelled response as the effects of his own drink caught up with him:

**03:59: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : I took my own advice and opened a bottle I’d been saving, too. What kind of chocolate?

**04:02: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : See salt on dark. Someone ssaid dip them in olive oil so i stupidy did. Yuk.

**04:05: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : Don’t fell bad, I’m eating crisps with mine.

**04:06: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : howz that?

**04:07: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : deeliscious. You should try it.

**04:09: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : You take me for an id/iot?

**04:11: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : No, at leasr you know butter than to drink whisky from a fish barrell.

Jaime waited a long time for the next response. He finished the crisps and washed them down with more whisky. About three-quarters of the bottle was empty. Funny how one person drinking alone could kill a bottle faster than a couple drinking together. He wondered if Peat had passed out, picturing him in an old recliner with his fussy sea salt chocolates and a dish of olive oil. He began typing:

**04:36: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : Was there some one special you where hoping to share that bottle with?

**04:39: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : Was.

_Was_. Powerful for such a simple word. Yeah, there _was_ someone he’d been waiting for, too. Good thing he didn’t have Sapphire’s phone number or he’d be drunk-dialing her. She’d probably been in bed for hours, possibly snuggled up next to someone from her real life. Someone she left one night a week to go fulfill a few fantasies, turn a few heads. She’d admitted to thinking about him during the week though, to touching herself when she did. Truth, or an act? Jaime didn’t think it was an act. Everything about her… _everything_ about her, spoke to him of truth.  
  
 **05:01: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : Night im gone pass out now.

0 **5:01: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : Night.

Jaime switched off the tablet and brushed the crisp crumbs off the bed. Closing his eyes, a last thought intruded before he passed out himself: he was definitely in too deep.

~*~*~*~*  
It was past noon before Jaime dragged himself out of bed and made coffee. The lack of food in his kitchen hadn’t resolved overnight. There were still crisps, but he doubted he’d ever be tempted to eat another bag. Maybe he’d order some take-away later.

He’d felt awful on Friday morning, but it was nothing compared to how lousy he felt today. He could nurse his hangover in bed, but it would inevitably lead to more thoughts of Sapphire. He’d woken up hard and wanting from a dream about her. A vivid dream of making love to her in his own bed, her long legs wrapping around his hips as he stroked into her over and over, their eyes locked like nothing could ever come between them. There’d been no mask, but he couldn’t remember what she’d looked like without it.

Lying in bed with his hand on his cock, he’d closed his eyes and tried to recapture the dream, but it was gone, shredded with the fury of his aching head. 

The pain soon overcame his arousal, and he vowed to keep himself too busy in the garage for the rest of the weekend to dwell on the Sapphire situation. He pulled on an old pair of ripped jeans, faded a wintry blue, along with a tee from a cancelled sci-fi show he’d loved and an old plaid shirt layered over that. 

Taking a second cup of coffee through the kitchen door to the garage, he pushed a button to open the doors to his restoration bay. Sunlight brightened the workspace and picked out bits of silver hidden in the rust of the GRR. If cars had memories, he hoped this one still had some of its glory days. 

“We’ll get you back together, old sport.” Jaime told it, sliding his hand along the roof. He opened the driver’s door and popped the latch to release the bonnet. He began pulling cables, wires, and plugs, all of them covered in gunk and neglect. Setting them on his towel-covered worktable, he scratched at his temple with one greasy finger as he considered which could be salvaged and which needed replacing. His first goal was to get the old car operational before tackling the body and interior.

What fluids were left in its veins had been leaking onto the floor of the garage since he’d had it towed in over a week ago. Jaime rolled out the jack and inserted it under the frame, pumping it to lift the car high enough for him to look under it and figure out how many different things were leaking. 

He positioned himself on the creeper and rolled himself halfway under it, along with a variety of wrenches and pliers. The ache in his head began to subside as he lost himself in tinkering with the underbelly of the once-sleek car. Transmission fluid dripped and oil trickled onto his shirt as he loosened and tested seals. 

Jaime was just wrenching the bolts on the gearbox when he heard light steps coming up the drive. In heels. 

“Jaime?”

For a heart-stopping second he thought Sapphire had tracked _him_ down, and he cracked his head against the axle he lifted it so fast. He groaned and touched his forehead, checking for blood. 

“Jaime?” The voice again, more insistent. He’d already recognized it. That it coincided with the sudden pain of hitting his head seemed appropriate. 

He scooted the creeper out from under the car and sat up. 

“Cersei,” 

“Hello, Jaime.” She said with a small smile, “I should have expected to find you working on one of your _graddakh_ old cars.”

“A shame you found me under a car instead of a woman,” he said coolly. 

“I didn’t come to fight.”

“Then why did you come? Wait, don’t tell me you’ve missed me?”

“I have. I’ve missed you.” 

Jaime rolled off the creeper and stood up, “In that case, let me give you a hug,” He said, grinning and walking toward her with his arms open.

“Ew, no! Jaime, you’re all covered in grease.”

Jaime stopped and looked down at himself in apparent amazement, “Why, so I am.” He stood for a few seconds, seeming to think, then took one long stride forward and wrapped Cersei in a hug that pressed him against her, chest to thighs. Cersei stifled a scream.

Backing away, Jaime looked her up and down, and with a small nod picked up a towel from his work table and offered it to her. “Sorry, Cerse, looks like a little rubbed off on your blouse, there. Kinda dressed up for a Saturday, aren’t you?”

Jaime! You – you did that on purpose!”

“You said you missed me. Oh, are you here for some other reason?” His smile became cutting.

Cersei rubbed at the spot on her blouse, smearing it into the red silk, “Why would you even say something like that, Jaime? Why else would I come out here?”

“You could have called, if that was all.”

“I tried. Your phone is off.”

“So it is,” Jaime said, “and you drove all the way here. Would you like to see my latest project?”

Cersei appeared to consider it a second, “No, thank you, Jaime. I’ve toured enough of your wrecks over the years.” 

“So you missed me, but not my wrecks? Seems to me you didn’t hate the back seat of some of them.” He watched her face, hoping by provoking her that she’d reveal her real reason for showing up. “This one here, sadly, doesn’t have much of a back seat. The front though, if I cleaned up the rat nest in the passenger side, might do.” 

“Jaime,” she said, her voice suddenly seductive, “you’re right, we did have some good times in your cars.” She moved closer to him, careful to avoid his oily shirt, “I’ve missed _us_ , too.”

To his astonishment, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, darting her tongue out to lick the seam of his mouth.

“Cersei, what are you…”

She lowered herself to her knees and popped open the button on his jeans, looking up at him though mascaraed lashes, “Is this okay?” she asked, sliding his zipper down.

He was hard for her the instant she’d gotten on her knees, even knowing there had to be some scheme behind it. Could he let her blow him in the sanctity of his garage? Oh, seven hells, _yes_. She pushed his pants and briefs down his hips to let his cock spring free. When she put her lips around the swollen tip of it he lowered his hand to the top of her head, feeling her soft blond hair as he ran his grease streaked fingers through it. 

Cersei pulled back a bit and ran her tongue all around the head of his cock as he watched, before sucking it in into her mouth and putting her hands on his bare arse, squeezing and kneading as she took him deeper. Jaime groaned and raised his head in pleasure. 

An elderly neighbor in high-waisted board shorts and rubber gardening boots was standing stock still in the next yard, watching. Jaime waved cheerfully. The old man grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Cersei would’ve been furious to know they were observed, but Jaime felt she could survive a little humiliation. He was certain the reason for this unexpected blow job would shortly be revealed and his fun would be over.

Almost as abruptly as she’d begun, his former lover took her mouth off him and stood. “Jaime,” Cersei said, her voice needy, “take me inside and fuck me. It’s been too long since I had your gorgeous dick inside me.”

“What about Robert?”

“ _Fuck_ Robert.”

“I’d rather fuck you,” he said, head spinning from his need to continue despite the clanging of warning bells.  He pulled his pants up enough to walk into the house. “Do you want a drink?”

“Anything but whisky,” she purred.

_I can stop this right now_. 

Jaime pulled a bottle of red wine from the rack and two glasses. He leaned in to kiss Cersei, but she dodged him and slid her hand into his pants instead.

“Um, Jaime, you’re really filthy,”

“You’ve always liked it when I’m filthy.”

“You know what I mean. Would you mind taking a shower? For me?” Cersei took her hand out of his pants and picked fresh glasses and another bottle from the rack, “and wash your hands before you get everything else all greasy. Is your bedroom upstairs?”

Jaime realized with a start that she’d never seen the upstairs rooms in his house. She’d brought Robert to his housewarming party a few years back and he hadn’t been giving tours. He turned on the kitchen tap and scrubbed at his hands with the abrasive cleanser he kept there, trying to think of a reason not to let her see his room now. Wishing she were someone else didn’t seem reason enough for keeping her out of his bed. That kind of thing had never stopped _her_ from fucking whoever was convenient.

_I can stop this any time._

“I’m having my bedroom re-painted,” he lied, grabbing a corkscrew, “we’ll use the guest suite. Follow me.” He led her up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom furthest from his own. It was kept ready for Tyrion, but he didn’t mention that. 

He took the bottle from her, slit the foil and uncorked it. Cersei held out the glasses and he poured, setting down the bottle and taking his when he was done. They each took a drink. The tannins in the red wine she’d chosen were bitter and dry on his tongue. 

He’d need to be careful not to get drunk; there was still no food in his belly and trusting Cersei was never a good idea. She could ride him until his cock fell off, but he couldn’t let her get inside his head. 

_She’ll never get back in my heart, at least._

“I need something from the other room.” Jaime told her.

“Hurry,” Cersei said, looking up at him with wide green eyes and a seductive smile.

Jaime walked down the hall and into his room, glancing at the unmade bed where he’d been wishing he was with Sapphire just a couple hours ago. The gods were funny that way, to bring him a willing woman but not the one he most wanted. In the bathroom he took two small, sealed boxes from a drawer, then poured out some of his wine and replaced it with water. 

Cersei was waiting where he’d left her. The level in her glass was higher than when he’d left.

“Here,” he said, handing her one of the packets with a smile.

Taking it from him, she squinted at it, “What’s this?”

“An STD test. You need to pee on it.”

“What?”

“Results are quick,” he told her brightly, “don’t tell me you haven’t done this before.”

“Are you suggesting that I might have something _catching_ , Jaime?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Better to be safe. I’ll take one too, see?” he held up the other packet.

“I’m insulted that you think I’d be at risk for some low class crotch rot. I don’t need to do this.”

“And you think Robert doesn’t dip his dick wherever he feels like it? I don’t want to catch anything from him, either.”

Cersei looked at him defiantly and began unbuttoning her blouse. Jaime noticed her nipples were hard beneath the lace of her bra, and the memory of her rounded breasts had him reaching out to cup one and rub a thumb over the familiar bud. 

“You can trust me, Jaime. Take your shower and I’ll be waiting for you.” Smug, confident.

“Maybe you _can’t_ trust me, Cerse. Thought of that?” Jaime grinned and began buttoning her blouse back up, “but I owe it to myself and anyone else I might be involved with to steer clear of the ‘crotch rot’ as you so charmingly called it. No test, no sex.”

_Refuse_ , he thought, _Please,  just give me an excuse not to fuck you_. 

He watched her face coloring, the pretty blush in her cheeks nothing at all like the all-over freckled pink of Sapphire when she was embarrassed or aroused. This wasn’t either, though; it was anger.

“Okay, sweetling,” she said, coming to a decision, “for you, and for…whoever else you’re sleeping with. Are there many?”

“Many what?” Jaime asked her retreating back as she carried the test into the bathroom.

“Whores.” He heard her say under her breath, but then she said cheerfully, “Girlfriends? Lovers? How many do you have?” She shut the door and her muffled voice carried through, “when shall I wish you joy?”

Jaime shook his head, almost wishing he could tell her there was someone special in his life. _But if there was, I wouldn’t be about to fuck you_. He started undressing, wondering what was taking Cersei so long. 

Finally, she called, “how the hell do you read this thing?”

“Bring it out here and I’ll show you.”

“I just _peed_ on this stick. I’m not taking it anywhere. What are all of these little green symbols?”

“The green means the results are negative. Reds are positive. It covers about ten different types. Just leave it there and I’ll look at it.” _Was I hoping for a red or two_?

Cersei came out of the bathroom, nude but for her wedding ring. The wariness that had softened Jaime’s cock fled as his body remembered how well they’d once fit together.

“Why are you really here, Cersei?” he asked, hoping she’d get it out of the way before he did something he’d regret.

“I told you. I miss you. All of you.” She looked pointedly at his erection, “Can you still pee on a stick when you’re all rigid like that?”

“I’ll manage. Want to join me in the shower?”

“No, thank you. But maybe you could shave? You look positively medieval with all of the hair on your face. Your girlfriends need to look after you better.”

Jaime laughed as he went into the bathroom, “I like it this way.” 

“You can re-grow it.”

“Is it a deal-breaker? Because I’m not shaving.” Years ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to do anything that put her in his bed, especially after she’d married Robert and their time together was rare. The novelty of telling her ‘no’ and meaning it was satisfying.

_I can say no to the other thing, too. I can still send her home_.

He got in the shower, the steam rising around him as he scrubbed at his skin and hair. When he was done he gave himself a quick dry with a towel and walked naked into the room. Cersei got off the bed and came to him. They kissed and he picked her up and carried her back to the bed, laying her down gently. He trailed his lips down her neck and she arched her back, sighing. When he took her nipple between his teeth she moaned his name and wrapped her fingers in his hair, holding him to her breast as he drew the bud into his mouth.

Jaime moved a hand down to her cunt, bare but for a dark blonde line of hair leading to her cleft. His finger slid between the smooth flesh and he circled it around her nub. She thrust against his hand, crying out _yes, yes, oh, Jaime, my sweet_.

She was so different; her petite body and full curves so unlike the gentle swells and muscular planes of Sapphire’s body. Her reactions were different, too. There was no holding back for Cersei. If anything, she exaggerated the moans and movements he drew from her. The scent of her arousal told him she wasn’t faking that, at least. 

Moving down between her legs, he rubbed his bearded cheek against her bare mound, and she groaned at the sensation, lifting her pelvis hungrily. Jaime encircled her hips and upper thighs with his arms and held her while he licked and sucked her swollen clit. Her cries of pleasure got louder, seemed more genuine, and he pushed two fingers into her entrance, crooking them up before beginning to move them in and out. She began to tremble, and he fucked her with his hand and mouth as she came, loudly and thoroughly. 

He was achingly hard, though Cersei hadn’t made any attempt to touch his cock since they’d been in the kitchen. He couldn’t help thinking about the way Sapphire had made him feel on Thursday, the attention and care she’d shown when he was at her mercy on the St. Baelor’s cross. The memory of it was intoxicating. He’d wanted to make love to her, yet had nobly refused when she’d asked him to. _Fool_.

He lay down next to Cersei, to hold her after her climax. “Fuck me, Jaime,” she gasped as he tried to kiss her.

_Fuck me, Leo_ , Sapphire had said, _I want you inside me_.

With _her_ voice in his head, he moved between Cersei’s open legs and sank into her, unashamed to be imagining someone else beneath him as he began to move, closing his eyes and thrusting with long, slow strokes of his cock. It was like his dream from the morning, and in his mind he saw Sapphire’s blue eyes looking into his as he made love to her. Cersei’s moans of pleasure became hers as his hips rocked into her harder and faster. He groaned and panted as he took her, and when she cried out in ecstasy, his own voice rose as he came with a final hard thrust.

_Sapphire._

“What?” Cersei gasped out as she clenched around him.

Jaime opened his eyes, coming back to himself abruptly. _For just a moment, there, it seemed real_. 

“What did you say?” Cersei asked again, sinking back onto the bed, trembling from the orgasm he’d given her, “You’ve gotten louder since we were together. I don’t remember you ever making so much noise before. It was really good, wasn’t it?”

_You have no idea_.

“Mm, it was good.” He murmured, lying down next to her.

“It’s never been as good with anyone else as it was with you, Jaime.”

_Here it comes._

“I know I never should have married Robert.” Cersei said, turning into him, seeking the protection of his arms. Jaime put them around her, hating himself for how much he wanted to be held as well.

“I recall telling you so at the time,” he said, “but he was everything you wanted.” _And I wasn’t_.

“Oh, Jaime, I’ve always wanted you. You do know that, right? I could never be true to Robert because of how I still felt about you.”

“Am I responsible for the Kettleblacks and that idiot comedian, too? I don’t recall getting any thank you cards from them.”

Cersei stiffened in his arms, “That’s not fair. You were off surfing and working on cars, living your life.”

“For once,” Jaime said, “As were you. Political dinners, photo ops, interviews… You had no use for me, Cerse. You saw a future with Robert that fit your ambitions.”

“And what of it? You just wanted to bum around and you _hated_ politics with a passion. You could have risen within the party, but you –“

“We’ve been over this before. I’m a loser with no ambition.”

“But now you’re the CEO of Casterly Bank.”

“And still not ambitious. You belong with Robert, sweetling.”

“Jaime,” she began to cry, “Oh, Jaime, I hate him so much.”

“Are you leaving him?”

“I – what? No, I’m not _leaving_ him. Do you know how pathetic politician’s ex wives are? I’ve no desire to start doing interviews with Westeros Women’s Weekly, profiling my formerly glamorous life. Gods, like I’d go through that after all I’ve put up with. Standing next to him and smiling through each scandal...”

“Seems to me you’ve been involved in a few of your own,” Jaime noted, finding the glow of holding her dimming by the second.

“They were _all_ hushed up. Uncle Tywin made sure of it. The Lannister name is very powerful. Why would you even bring those up?”

“You forget that you got the stink of scandal on me, too. You dangled our relationship in front of Robert and his hounds tried to take me down. Good thing I don’t give a stinking _graddakh_ about my reputation.”

“Your reputation,” Cersei laughed through her tears, “that scandal made you more popular than ever. How many women did you get to lay when that article about the Bad Boy of Banking came out? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?”

_Only you._ “It may have meant nothing to you, Cersei, but I thought we still meant something to each other. Back then. Not now. I’ve moved on, and I’m wondering why you’re back here lying naked beside me after sucking my cock in front of my neighbors.” 

She cringed and looked up at him in horror, “Did they -?”

“Have cameras? No.” she relaxed, until he added,  “Not that I saw anyway, but it is a high security neighborhood. You might want to have your cronies check the satellite feeds for suspicious cock-sucking behavior by high-profile blond women.” 

“You’re a shit, you know that?”

“And yet you’re here. I’ve been waiting to hear what you want from me besides a decent fuck for a change.”

“You’re CEO of the bank now,” she said, as though it explained everything. 

“So I noticed,” Jaime said, his tone dry.

“Robert is trying to overturn the limitations on one person governing more than seven kingdoms. But if he manages to get the law changed, that whore Daenerys Targaryen can also run for _his_ office. He’s not as popular as he once was,” she reminded him.

“He was never that popular, as I recall. He stole the last election. That whole hanging stag debacle was criminal. If his brother hadn’t been Governor of the Stormlands…”

“Yes, yes, he’s _so_ evil,” Cersei huffed, “Done is done. I was hoping that when the Targaryen tart comes to Casterly Bank to help fund her campaign that you could, just, turn down her proposal?”

“I can’t do that, Cerse. That’s not how it – how _I_ – work.”

“ _Please_ Jaime,” she whimpered, reaching down to stroke his cock, wriggling closer to press her breasts against him.

“Why not go to your uncle Tywin? He’s still on the board. Oh, I forgot – sucking him off for political gain would be a little too weird even for you.”

She squeezed his hardening cock a little harder than was comfortable.

“I’m sure you know that Tyrion is CFO now. I’m not sure he’s ever been offered a BJ in exchange for banking favors, but it’s worth a try. _Ow_." Jaime pried her fingers and manicured red nails off of him. “I think we’re done here, cos. It’s been fun.” 

He got out of bed and began pulling his greasy jeans back on. after he’d shrugged the shirts back on he said, “I’d offer you something to eat, but it would seem I’ve nothing to give you there, either.”

Cersei flounced off the bed and got dressed, glaring at him while he watched her in amusement. As she was stalking past him she noticed his unopened STD test on the dresser.

“You didn’t even take the fucking test, did you?”

“Nope. I wasn’t in danger of crotch rot until you came along.”

Cersei threw her empty wine glass at his head, but he’d been expecting it and ducked. It shattered against the wall. Jaime let her get a head start down the stairs before he walked down the hall to his bedroom and took his tablet out to order some food, hoping it would settle his rising nausea. His hands shook as he scrolled through the listings. Ordering took only seconds, and then he went to his bathroom and threw up.

His legs felt weak coming out of the bathroom, and he collapsed on his bed wondering if he was coming down with a virus. He lay there for long seconds, his heart thundering and his stomach roiling unpleasantly. Sweat sheened his forehead. Holding a hand up in front of him, he watched as it shook. 

_I don’t want to be sick. What if I have to miss Thursday_? 

He closed his eyes and lay very still. Fifteen minutes later he felt well enough to get up. Relieved, he decided to go strip the bed in the guest room. They hadn’t touched the sheets, only the bedspread, but he felt an urgent need to go wash everything in very hot water. 

Entering the room, he began to feel sick again. He felt his forehead with the back of his hand, but didn’t seem feverish. Considering all of the drinking he’d done on an empty stomach, he probably just needed to eat. As Jaime approached the bed he noticed the smell of sex lingering in the air. _Hah, what would Tyrion say if he knew Cersei and I had  fucked on ‘his’ bed?_ He forced a laugh, but his breath caught in his throat, and he was shaking again. _Oh, gods, I can’t believe I just fucked **Cersei**._

He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands, finally recognizing the way he felt as a reaction to severe stress. He’d felt this way when she’d told him she was getting married, right after she’d seduced him in his boyhood bedroom during a Winterfest celebration. That night, she’d made the announcement of her betrothal to the entire gathering.

He got up and left the bedding where it was. He’d leave a note for his housekeeper to throw it out on Tuesday. He shut the door firmly and went back to his room, where he sat down on the edge of the bed, disgusted at himself. 

He picked up the near-empty whisky bottle from his nightstand. There was enough left to offer a glass to Sapphire someday.

He came to a decision: it no longer mattered that he was in too deep. Or that she was. _We belong together. I’ll get there early Thursday, wait for her_. _Tell her how sorry I am for how I acted, find a way to make her forgive me. Convincing her to be my paramour will only the first step_.  

The ringing doorbell brought him out of his contemplation; he was suddenly ravenous for the Braavosi take away he’d ordered.

_~*~*~*~*_  
The rest of the weekend and week seemed to both fly by and take forever. Having committed himself to winning Sapphire over, Jaime was cheerful and courteous at the office. People wondered if he’d been visited by the Seven Ghosts of Summer’s End, and warily waited for their taciturn old boss to return.

Thursday morning finally arrived, and Jaime got out of bed before his alarm, anxious to get through the business day so he could see Sapphire. He’d pictured what would happen a hundred times; he’d be waiting for her near the door when she came in and ask to speak to her privately. Taking her aside, he would kiss her, not too passionately, but firmly enough that his intentions were unmistakable. _Should he say he was sorry before or after the kiss?_ _Maybe both_. He’d ask her to partner with him that night, and when they’d finally made love for the first time, he’d ask her to be his for the season. Gods, if she refused to be with him tonight for some reason…no, he wouldn’t think of that. He’d catch her when she came in, persuade her.

The monthly board meeting at the bank was scheduled for that afternoon, so Jaime picked out a well-tailored slate gray suit and blue tie, laying them out on his bed before his shower. He was still unshaven from the previous Friday, but his beard had grown in neatly enough. Jaime straightened his tie in the mirror, smiling as he imagined the vein throbbing in his father’s forehead when he saw the full beard. It seemed likely to annoy five to seven hells out of Tywin Lannister. 

When he came home to shower before going to the club, he’d just get rid of it. Sapphire might like to see him clean-shaven. He’d been trying to figure out what to wear to the club itself for the last few days. He’d contemplated purchasing some sort of leather trousers, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even when they’d been in fashion for men, over a decade ago, he hadn’t liked the smarmy look of them. Most of the costumes he’d seen at the club struck him as ridiculous, and he was fairly certain Sapphire felt the same way. Though she _had_ stared at that bartender in the little apron the first week… No, he just couldn’t see himself wearing something that revealing to the club – not that he minded if Sapphire did. He’d eventually settled on a pair of dark blue jeans and a white cotton shirt. They were now neatly hung over a chair, ready for the evening. 

The drive in to the office was uneventful, and Jaime was soon swept up in a very busy day. The fiscal quarter was ending soon, and many companies with accounts at Casterly were moving large sums of money around, hoping to make their report numbers look more attractive.

The head of one of the largest of those companies, Bolton Industries, held a seat on the board of directors at the bank. Usually the owner’s son, Ramsey, came in his stead. He’d always seemed a creepy character to Jaime, and there were whispers of money laundering and illicit activities that the elder Bolton was said to turn a blind eye to. 

Tyrion came to Jaime right before the meeting, “So,” he said, sitting in the chair across from his brother and kicking to make it rise, “word is that young Ramsey won’t be at the meeting today.”

“Any special reason?”

He’s in prison after being arrested for a long list of no-no’s. Seems his stepmother walked in on him in the middle of a deal. I’m not sure if it was sex or drugs or both, but she called the city guard. He was taken away and she took it upon herself to look into his business dealings. Roose is furious.”

“I should think so,” Jaime said, “to have his son be involved in – “

“No, he’s angry with the wife. He’s having a hell of a time trying to hush up what they found and get bail set. Besides that, he found out we’re going to fund the Tully venture, and he’s been working with the Frey’s, trying to bankrupt them for years. He’ll be in the meeting today.”

Jaime groaned. Roose Bolton, despite his veneer of respectability, always struck him as far more perverse than the son. It would be a contentious meeting.

“And the wife? He wouldn’t harm her after for she’s done, would he?”

“Hells no. He adores her. They say she really has him by the gray and curlies. Walks all over him, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, but please spare me. I have to look the man in the eye fifteen minutes from now.”

“Me, too,” Tyrion said, lowering the chair, “That is if dear dad hasn’t had my high chair removed again. I’d better go check. See you there.”

With Roose Bolton in the meeting, discussions quickly became heated. The bad blood between the Freys and Tullys ran deep, with Mr. Bolton apparently playing to both sides. Jaime suspected he was actually somewhat shadily working with his father as well in undermining the Starks _and_ the Tullys. He was glad he’d approved their funding, if only to annoy the elder Lannister.

The meeting dragged on later than usual. Much as he wanted to leave, as CEO, Jaime needed to stay. It was difficult to keep his temper when they were still arguing at five. By five-thirty he was tempted to strangle one or more of the men in the room and slip out in the commotion. By six he was grinding his teeth loudly enough for Tyrion to start making faces at him and then at the clock in the conference room. By seven after seven, when the meeting finally broke up, a herd of dragons couldn’t have kept him there a second longer. 

He took the stairs down to his Shadowcat and got in. He checked the back seat, relieved he’d left his mask in the car. There was no time to go home first. If he drove fast and was not pulled over, he might just get to the club before everyone had chosen partners for the night. The tires squealed as he pulled out of the garage – right into a traffic jam. It took him ten minutes to merge onto the main street, and another twenty to make it to the highway. By the time he got there Sapphire would have chosen someone else already. He’d have no chance to even talk to her. Jaime stomped on the accelerator, pushing the car to go faster.

Somehow he avoided being pulled over for speeding, but the last bit of the journey up the hill to the castle was torture when he had to slow the car to avoid hitting any wildlife. His was the only car on the road, the only one pulling up to the valets. He put his mask on and leapt out of the car, flinging his keys to the valet.

Jaime rushed through the door being held open by an attendant and trotted though the deserted lobby to the ballroom, hurrying through the door as he tried to catch his breath. 

He saw Sapphire almost immediately. She was face to face with a very tall, very broad man in a very brief costume. Even from across the room he could see the sexual tension between them. As he watched, the man raised his hand to Sapphire’s mask and placed it on the longer side, stroking his fingers over it as she reached out and placed her hand on his bulging bicep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we went there.
> 
> Sorry. Not sorry. Sorry? If you're reading this we assume you made it to the end. Oh, yeah, and sorry again. Cliffhanger. On top of _that_.
> 
> Whisky Peat is Brienne's Whisky Lover's name, so, yes, they were talking to each other. 
> 
> No, this won't turn into a Cersei thing. He's done with her. So done. 
> 
> This does take us up to a real club night, and sex will be had by someone at some point. That's all the clues you're getting. 
> 
> But please remember: we ship it, too. Truuuusst ussss.
> 
> Please leave us comments! We love comments. Comments keep the starch in our keyboards. Did I mention we love comments? 
> 
> Apologies for another long delay in the story. A big, hairy, work deadline is to blame.
> 
> Speaking of which, there's a whole lotta stuff planned to happen next. It would help _a lot_ to know if our readers would prefer smaller, quicker updates or the longer chapters that cover a lot of ground.
> 
>    
> The following gif (sorry, I don't know the source to credit) is how I think most of you reacted to the JC sex:


	15. The Warrior Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up where chapter 14 left off, with Jaime (Leo) arriving at the club late and finding that Sapphire (Brienne) is standing next to a very large man.
> 
> Jaime's POV first, then Brienne's. 10,500 words. Huge whopping chapter.
> 
> [Brienne's bodice](http://www.steampunktendencies.com/post/75969957658/corset-malachite-made-by-andrew-kanounov), sans the neck piece, is inspired by the work of Russian designer Andrew Kanounov. 
> 
> Warning for a pretty racy (but funny) demo.

**Jaime**

Jaime stopped in the doorway, frozen with Jealousy. Sapphire had wrapped her fingers around the man’s wrist and was saying something to him, her eyes flashing. The man smirked at her, a self-satisfied expression that Jaime itched to remove with his fist.

Noticing Jaime by the door, the man’s pale eyes fixed on him, lip curling in a face scarred with old burns. Sapphire followed his gaze and saw Jaime walking toward them. A huge smile lit her face for an instant, but disappeared quickly. Her hand dropped from the man’s arm.

“Hello, Sapphire,” Jaime said when he’d reached her, and then fell quiet. Everything he’d planned to say to her tangled in his throat. This wasn't the scenario he'd envisioned for their next meeting, and his hopes of winning her back were fading. 

“So, pretty boy made it after all,” said the larger man, “All dressed up in your cunt suit, I see.” His voice dripped with aggression, and Jaime tore his gaze from Sapphire to look up at him. 

“I didn’t have time to change,” he said, off-balance. He looked back at Sapphire, “I came as soon as I could.” She nodded, but was silent. He reached out, taking one of her hands to hold in both of his, “Forgive me.”

Sapphire took a deep breath, her blush coming up at last as she looked away from him. He was grateful that she didn't withdraw her hand. _Look at me. Look at me, Sapphire_ , he willed her, desperate for some clue to her feelings, wishing he could get her alone, or at least away from this hill of homeliness beside them.

“Name’s Doog,” the large man said, holding out his over-sized paw. 

Jaime looked up at him. “I’d shake your hand, _Doog_ , but mine has better things to do.”

“It’s not ‘Doog,’” Sapphire said quietly, her mouth quirking into a small smile, “It’s _Dog_.”

“Dog,” Jaime amended, “Appropriate.” 

“Was that an insult?” Dog asked.

“Did you think it was?” Jaime asked, suddenly eager to fight this overgrown mutt just for being there, for daring to put his hand on Sapphire’s mask, an intimacy he’d never allowed himself.

 “Dogs are good creatures. Loyal, uncomplicated.”

“Obedient,” Jaime said, smiling, “Submissive. Fond of eating their own shit, if the stories are true.”

“What are you trying to say, fancy boy? You’re just an itty bitty kitty-cat. I don’t see any trees around for you to run up if you need to escape in a hurry. Or were you hoping to scale Sapphire here, instead?” Dog bared his teeth.  His canines did not inspire fear. “I’m thinking maybe this one is too much woman for you.” 

Sapphire’s eyes opened wide, and she looked from one to the other of them. Her fingers, still held between Jaime’s palms, flexed, wrapping around his hand and squeezing lightly. 

Couples were streaming past them, holding hands, buttocks, or wine glasses, and chattering excitedly. All or most of them were about to end their club-enforced dry streak after the first demo, and the air was thick with anticipation and pheromones. 

_Go sniff around someone else’s lady, Dog_ , Jaime thought, wondering what the penalty was for decking another club member. Probably not worth the risk of getting banned for a week and leaving Sapphire alone with this cur.

“You Sers realize that we’re starting now, right?” Ellaria had quietly arrived while the two men were verbally circling each other like direwolves after the same bone. She laid one hand on Jaime's forearm and one on Dog’s. “Unless the three of you will be partnering, I could use your help, Dog, for tonight’s demonstration. I know our audience would find your participation most enjoyable, and I promise it will be well worth your time.” 

Ellaria turned her sultry smile on Jaime, “Though if Leo would like to do it instead, I believe at least half of our audience has been yearning to see our lion in action. You’d have to take off your lovely suit, of course.” Her eyes traveled up and down his body unhurriedly, “Though just removing your pants would be most edifying.”

Ellaria looked from one man to the other, awaiting some response, and then smiled at Sapphire, “It might be nice to switch it up and have a woman inhabit the role instead. Sapphire, how would you like to volunteer for tonight’s demo? I’m sure I’m not the only one who would find it enormously satisfying to have you take the stage. I’d really love to see you in the role I envisioned for Dog. Or, if you wanted to take the role of the female sub, I think it would be an experience you’d always remember. We could even find a different male volunteer, since neither one of these lads seems inclined to step up."

“No need for that,” Dog said cheerfully, holding out his hand, “What do you say, Sapphire, want to join me on stage?”

Jaime’s grip on Sapphire’s hand tightened and His breath caught in his throat, unable to think as Ellaria’s various scenarios played in his head. He was positive he didn’t want to go on stage himself, but the possibility that his intended Paramour might, either with this overgrown mutt or alone, nearly panicked him into volunteering. 

“I… No, thank you.” Sapphire said, as politely as if she’d just declined a second crumpet at tea.

Letting his breath out slowly, Jaime dared to pull her closer to him. “I believe you have your volunteer, Madame Sand,” he said, nodding toward Dog, “Sapphire and I need to find a place to sit. If you’ll excuse us?”  He made a shallow bow and looked at Sapphire, trying not to look as insecure as he felt.

 _Please, come with me_.

“We do thank you for the offer, Madame.” Sapphire said, “Dog, we look forward to your performance.” 

Jaime started to steer her towards some empty seats as far from the stage as possible before the Madame or the mongrel could try to change her mind about volunteering. 

“I’m so sorry about last week, Sapphire,” he said, when they’d reached an unoccupied couch, “I tried to get here early, to apologize, but I got stuck in a meeting.” Jaime sighed, shaking his head, “The way I left things, left _you;_ I behaved badly _._ If you really meant it about being able to choose each other each week, then I…I’m hoping you’ll choose me, too.”

“I was starting to worry that you'd decided not to come back." Sapphire said, “I'm glad you’re here. Do I have this meeting you were in to thank for the suit?”

“Not exactly club wear, is it?” Jaime said, “I had planned to go home and change, but –“

“It’s fine,” Sapphire said, beginning to smile, “You look like a sexy attorney or a really hot stockbroker. I think I like it.” She lifted the end of his tie with her free hand, “It makes my outfit seem even sillier, though.”

Jaime had been so focused on getting her to himself that he'd barely noticed what she was wearing. She was dressed in a bodice that looked like metal, it’s green patina making the sculpted leather look like an antique breastplate inspired by ancient Targaryen ceremonial armor. The low cut and formed curves of the top made the most of Sapphire's small breasts, and the waist nipped in while the hips flared out, giving her a curvier shape than he knew her to possess. She wore dark leggings and her boots came almost to the knee. 

“You look like a warrior goddess,” he said in awe.

“Rather impractical for a warrior, I should think.” She said, smiling at his compliment.

“Unless she wanted to slay her enemies while they were busy admiring her. You could topple me with a wooden sword after seeing you in this.”

“Have you ever been hit with a wooden sword? They’re not entirely harmless, you know.”

“You had a wooden sword when you were a kid? Me, too.” 

“I still have mine. They may not cut, but they bludgeon perfectly well.” She grinned, "I don't use it much these days."

“I should be thankful for that. Do you forgive me enough to sit with me?” he asked, indicating the couch.

“I do.” She said, “As long as what you're really asking is if I'll be your paramour for tonight?” Her tone was light, but the fierce blush over her face and chest told him it was a difficult question for her.

 _“_ There is nothing in this world I would like more,” Jaime answered, as they sat down. _I was just one traffic jam away from losing you to Doog,_ Jaime thought, _What if I’d come in and you were already together on a couch, watching the demo and touching each other? Would I have chosen someone else or slunk out and gone home?_

Sapphire reached out to caress his bearded cheek and jaw. “This looks very fine on you,” she said, and Jaime closed his eyes, turning his face into her palm to kiss it. 

“I meant to shave. You really like it?” _Great, now I’m fishing for compliments_.

“Let me be sure,” Sapphire kissed him lightly, then sat back with a serious look on her face, “Tickles, just a little. Overall, though, I think it will do.” She reached out and tugged lightly at the hairs along his jaw, “The grey is especially fetching.”

Jaime thought of all the times Cersei had criticized him for the signs of aging he refused to hide, “You don’t have to compliment me, you know. I’m kind of a sure thing.”

"I know."

They sat for a moment smiling at each until the lights in the ballroom began dimming, the couples around them falling silent. Sapphire shifted closer to him on the couch and they looked to the stage. 

Madame Ellaria stood at the edge of the platform, illuminated by the spotlight. There were  two shadowy figures on the bed behind her. Jaime could tell by the sheer bulk of him that one was Dog. The other was probably a woman; Dog had his mouth on her very full breasts. 

“Welcome to the third session of Club Sand’s Thursday Night Season.” Ellaria said to scattered applause. She smiled, “I know everyone is anxious to get started with their chosen Paramours. I need remind none of you that this is traditionally the night when most of you get to make love with your partner for the very first time.” 

Appreciative whistles and a couple of short whoops came from the gallery of couches, and Jaime wondered when the cellphones would come out with their lighter apps. The atmosphere felt like a Dothraki Razorgrass concert, with the Madame playing the part of Horse Diva.  

Ellaria’s smile was brilliant, yet intimate, as if she were personal friends with each member in the room. “Tonight’s demo explores some territory that might be unfamiliar to our newest members,” Ellaria was saying, “Engaging in Domination and submission with more than two people can be an exciting dynamic; including a third, fourth, or even fifth person in your sex play can open up new avenues of pleasure most people will never experience.” She turned to glance briefly at the couple in the shadows behind her, an encouraging smile on her face. 

“In addition to there being three people in tonight’s demo, they’re also going to engage in some role-play. Playing a part is an integral part of D/s that elevates it above basic bondage. You don’t have to be a great actor to successfully role-play, though an imagination certainly helps. For a more immersive experience, it’s a good idea to sketch out what the play will involve before you get into character with your partner or partners. The most successful role-players stick to their personas throughout the scene. Your anonymity here at the club can actually be useful in achieving this. Be whoever you _want_ to be, and afterwards let that person and what he or she experienced here live in your heart when you’re among the uninitiated in your mundane lives. Or, better still, use what you’ve learned with someone outside the club to make their world a whole lot sexier.”

Ellaria paused as the lights slowly came up on stage so that the two people on the bed could be seen. The woman wore a pink and red mask, a matching waist cincher, and nothing else. Dog let her nipple slide out of his mouth and faced the audience with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. 

“Our scenario here involves a cheating wife, her lover, and her Dominant husband, performed tonight by our own Valar. Please give our volunteers, Dog and Pinkie, your kind attention.”

Applause followed as Ellaria exited the stage and the spotlight shifted to the couple on the bed. Pinkie had been sitting with one rounded leg crooked over Dog’s thigh and hip, but now she moved it to get to her knees on the bed, putting the top of her head about level with Dog’s chin. In moving, she revealed what had previously been hidden by their pose: Dog’s erect penis, curving up toward his furry belly. Jaime blinked his eyes; even from this distance the man’s cock looked enormous: thick, veined, incredibly long.

“Holy fucking _graddakh_ ,” Jaime whistled, sure that it must be some trick or illusion. Beside him, Sapphire made a small, startled sound, and he turned to look at her.

Her lips were pursed and her brows drawn together in a comical show of concern as Dog, too, got to his knees, his outsized appendage wobbling in front of him, a heat-seeking missile pointing directly at Pinkie. “That just can’t be real,” she whispered, seemingly unable to look away, “Tell me he’s wearing some sort of penile extender or… _something_.”

Jaime looked back at the stage in time to see Pinkie wrap her hands around Dog’s cock, purring, “We’d better hurry, lover. My husband will be home soon, and I need your big dick in my pussy before he gets here and spoils our fun.”

Her hands looked tiny against his endowment as she moved them up and down. The thing sure didn’t look synthetic or enhanced to Jaime. He wondered if every man in the room was making mental comparisons as he was, and coming up…short. 

Dog groaned and cupped the woman’s breasts in his hands, squeezing and hefting them up, “I dunno, babe, are you sure you’re wet enough to take me?” 

“Well, I think so,” Pinkie mused in a girlish voice as Dog sucked the tip of one breast into his mouth, sucking nipple and areola in with a mighty hollowing of his cheeks that made the woman groan, loudly. “Yes, oh, yes, Lover! Oh!” Her hands moved faster on his cock and Dog began to thrust his pelvis, trying to keep time with her movements. “Oh, take me now! Now, before my husband finds us, or you know what –“

“A woman wants a man between her thighs that is not her husband,” Valar had quietly entered from the back of the stage, and Jaime heard Sapphire stifle a giggle.

“Oh, sugar pie,” the woman cried dramatically, turning to Valar, “You’re not going to make us stop, are you?” Pinkie whimpered.

Valar, looking every bit the in-control Dom, regarded the pair impassively for a moment. "A man comes to cuckold another in his own bed, bringing with him a cock so epic it might cause both pleasure and pain,” he opined.

 _Where is this going_? Jaime wondered, and Sapphire looked confused as well. 

“Man, what is your name?”

“Doog.” 

“A man is named for an animal, as is right for someone whose cock resembles that of beast more than of man,”

Dog smiled and nodded, looking pleased with the comparison. _Maybe he should get that put on a t-shirt_ , Jaime thought, torn between curiosity, disgust and arousal at the direction the demo was taking. 

Sapphire moved even closer and whispered in his ear, “This could be interesting. Should we order some popcorn?” Jaime laughed. 

“If a man wishes to make love to my wife, she must be readied for that pleasure. Wife, lie back on the bed. Dog, stand aside.”

Dog got awkwardly off the bed, holding his stiff penis and stroking it distractedly. Pinkie positioned herself in the center of the bed, looking obedient but clearly happy at the direction the play was taking. Though she’d positioned herself in a spread-eagled position, Valar pulled one leg out to secure it to the cuffs already affixed to the foot of the bed and then did the same to the other, opening the woman’s legs as wide as possible. He silently did the same to her arms, Pinkie moaning all the while.

“A woman is restrained, ready to give and receive pleasure.” Valar announced, unbuttoning his trousers. As he lowered them to expose his own cock, Dog looked on, confused. “A man may allow another to pleasure his wife, but must find his own pleasure as well.” He took off his shirt, revealing a trim, muscular chest covered in reddish hair. He got up on the bed, kneeling with legs spread and his back to the headboard. 

He leaned forward and rubbed the head of his cock on Pinkie’s lips. She eagerly opened her mouth and took it in, and Valar grunted as she vigorously began to suck at it.

“A man may have a very large penis,” Valar said, looking pointedly at Dog, “but if he wishes to make a woman ready he needs skill and patience. Many women will tell you that a man who can use his cock is good, but a man who can use his mouth is better.”

Dog continued to stand uncertainly by and watch as Pinkie sucked her way up and down Valar expertly, pleasuring him balls to tip.

“A dog knows how to use his tongue, yes?” Valar finally said, a touch impatiently.

“Oh! Oh, yeah,” Dog rumbled, draping himself over the edge of the bed and burying his face in the woman’s cunt. He started lapping at it, and reached up with one hand to the woman’s boob, seizing a plump nipple between his fingers. Valar claimed the other.

As the audience watched the threesome in rapt silence, the woman’s cries of pleasure rose higher and higher, and Jaime wondered how she managed not to nip Valar’s dick the way she was writhing and shrieking.

“A woman is sufficiently wet?” the Dom asked, and Dog lifted his head.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked.

“A man is talking to you,” Valar confirmed patiently.

“Yeah, she’s pretty fucking wet, haha. Fucking wet.”

Valar stroked Pinkie’s face gently, and said something to her that was not audible to the audience. She let his cock slide out of her mouth and he got off the bed.

“What do you think he told her?” Sapphire asked.

“’A woman is about to get it doggie style’?” Jaime answered. Sapphire laughed and kissed him.

“Adorable and amusing, too.” She said, and the sincere warmth in her smile made his heart beat faster. He wanted her to keep looking into his eyes, wanted to forget everything around them and just bask in the way her regard made him feel, but loud moans drew their attention back to the stage almost immediately. Valar had taken over Dog’s position between Pinkie's legs and was quite possibly the more skilled as Pinkie’s little shrieks and groans reached louder and more urgent levels. It was difficult to tell for sure, but it looked like Valar was fingering her as well.

He looked up over Pinkie’s belly and told her, “A woman may come,” before lowering his head back between her thighs to continue. The resulting screams and mewls of ecstasy as he brought her to orgasm were very enthusiastic, and Jaime thought he heard her call out “Rosy,” several times, though in her excitement it sounded more like” Roosy." He wondered if it might be her safe word.

 _Apparently not_. Valar got up on the bed and with a husky “A husband must take his place,” sank into her, his hips immediately picking up a solid, sensuous rhythm that took Pinkie from the strained and less noisy end of her last orgasm straight into another one, even louder than the first. 

“ _Roosy_?” Sapphire asked, not looking away, “Does that mean anything to you?” Jaime shook his head. 

With a low shout, Valar tightened his grip on Pinkie’s generous hips and climaxed.

“A shame he can’t come in third person,” Sapphire whispered.

“I think he just did, technically.”

“Semantics,” Sapphire dismissed his pun with a wave of her hand.

Valar pulled out and got off the bed. He turned to Dog, who’d been watching and playing with himself as the Dom performed. “A husband has done his duty,” he said, “And offers this man with the ungulate cock for her pleasure.”

“’Ungulate.’ I like it. That means I can fuck her now, right?” 

“A woman _is _ready for you.”__

Jaime chuckled, “Did he just call Dog a horse?”

“Pretty sure whales and hippos fall into the category of ungulates as well.” Sapphire added, “I think I like Valar better all the time.”

Jaime pulled her hand into his lap, “Not too much, I hope.” He said, knowing that if she’d accepted Ellaria’s offer Sapphire would be the one up there being serviced by two men. 

Dog positioned himself, and they watched as he eased his oversized member into Pinkie. It took a while, and his whole shaft didn’t fit. He began to pump into her slowly at first as the woman adjusted to his girth, and then let her reactions guide him, moving faster as she got louder. Whatever he lacked in oral finesse, he certainly knew plenty about how to please a woman with what the gods had granted him.

“Talk about a dog and pony show,” Jaime muttered, having seen more than enough.

“Jealous?” Sapphire teased.

“I’m thanking the gods you didn’t agree to go up there, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m jealous,” Jaime said, “I couldn’t have watched you up there.” _It would have killed me._

A sudden cacophony of shouts, shrieks and moans told them the scene was drawing to a close. Jaime wondered how many other people in the audience had gotten impatient to be about their own pleasures.

As Valar worked to release Pinkie from the cuffs, Madame Ellaria took the stage again. 

“I’d like to thank our volunteers,” she said, as behind her Valar instructed Dog to scoop up the happy woman and carry her offstage while he followed. “I’d like to remind everyone again to share your safe word with your partners and to remember to keep things safe and consensual. Most of you have chosen someone to spend this special evening with, but some of you may be thinking of adding to your party after seeing the demo.”

Dog walked back onstage and stood towering over Ellaria. He hadn’t taken the time to dress. Even soft, his cock was quite large. “Dog,” the Madame said, pulling him forward by the hand, “Is in want of a partner or two, since I prevailed upon him to be in our demo before he’d decided on a Paramour. I don’t think he needs any further recommendation after that performance, do you?”

The audience laughed and clapped. Dog grinned and looked straight at Sapphire, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Ellaria began speaking again, but Jaime didn’t hear it as Dog swaggered off the stage. 

 “Sapphire, are you – what do you - “ Jaime stammered as Dog strode in their direction, his pendulous cock jouncing from thigh to thigh with each step.

“Oh, gods, no!” Sapphire hissed, flattening herself against the couch as though trying to disappear. 

“Sapphire?” Jaime asked, tearing his attention from Dog and his swinging dong.

“Leo, I –“ Her mouth dropped open and she fell silent.

Two smiling, masked women were hurrying over to Dog and he'd stopped to wait for them. Reaching him, one of the women put her hand on his chest and said something that Jaime couldn’t hear. Dog began nodding, giving her what passed for a smile. It seemed even more unpleasant than his sneer.   _The man’s been burned_ , thought Jaime, _have a little compassion. He can’t help his hideous face. May it rot in the seven hells_. 

Sapphire put her hand on his knee, digging her fingers into his leg as she watched the trio interact. Some agreement was swiftly reached and the three new paramours headed to the concierge station, with Dog draping an arm over the shoulders of each woman, his huge hands deliberately brushing against their tits as they walked. 

The tension holding Sapphire rigid against the back of the couch vanished and she slumped against Jaime, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Thank the gods,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Jaime chuckled, gently loosening the fingers painfully gripping his leg, “I’m sorry. You probably wanted to go with him.” 

“I… _no_. Did you? Want to go with him? I mean, with me?”

Jaime shuddered, “Not my glass of whisky, actually.”

“No, that really doesn’t seem your style.” Sapphire said, “I have heard that many men fantasize about being part of a threesome, though they typically want to be the only man.”

“Naturally. What about you? Do you like the idea?”

“Of sharing you with another woman in the bedroom? No.”

“I meant, of threesomes,” he asked, his grin sly.

“I'll admit it's an interesting idea, if it was _two men_ , but I would never actually participate in one.”

“Have you fantasized about it before? Being with two men?” Jaime asked, eager to hear about anything that turned her on.

“How is that any of your business?” 

“Apparently, the only thing personal we’re supposed to share here is sex. Which means it’s okay for you to tell me anything that gets you excited.”

“You’re making that up just to hear me say something salacious.”

“And why not? Hearing you talk about sex gets _me_ going,” Jaime said, “But everything about you does, so that’s no surprise.”

Sapphire lowered her eyes and mumbled, “You know I’m a sure thing, right?”

“You weren't a sure-thing earlier, and you were still all that I wanted." He kissed her deeply, hoping to convince her of his sincerity. It bothered him, knowing that almost any response he made would probably sound contrived, but he needed to try. "Gods, I’ve wanted you so much,” He whispered, trailing kisses down her neck until she relaxed and sighed with pleasure. 

“Maybe we should get a room,” she said.

“There’s a long line at the desk.”

“Mm, so there is. What did you think of the role-playing part of the demo? Maybe you’d like to try it later?

“Anything you want,” Jaime said, wishing he could unlace her bodice to find more skin to kiss, “Is there something you’d like to try?”

“Well, you look so good in your suit; maybe we think of something based on that.”

“Go on.”

“Hm, well,” Sapphire said, pausing in distraction as he kissed the inside of her wrist and began working his way up her arm, “You could be an attorney, and I could be a client needing to compensate you for services rendered.”

“If I was an attorney, I’d sue the whole world for you. Although, billable hours-wise, you might have a balance owing after a while.”

“But If I overpaid, you’d owe _me_ a refund. I can think of a few ways you could repay me.”

“So can I,” Jaime said, letting his hands wander, “Maybe instead of a client you should be the Judge, and I can plead my case in your chambers.” 

“Or you can be the Judge and I'll be the defendant blowing you behind the bench to get a more favorable verdict.”

“I’d be a fool to turn down such compelling testimony. Still, if _you_ were the Judge I could be your secretary and keep you entertained during boring court cases.”

“What, would you take up juggling goslings or something?”

“I think my talents would be more suited to licking and sucking you under your robes until you have to call a recess and beg me to fuck you in your office.”

“Really?” Sapphire said, her eyes darkening as she appeared to think about his suggestion, “I’d have to beg you to fuck me? I don’t think I’m likely to try that again.”

Jaime put his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, “Sapphire. I wish I could convince you of how much I wanted to make love to you last Thursday. Sometimes we want to save something special, and then end up regretting it later, after we've lost our chance. I’ve wished a thousand times I’d done things differently.” He rested his forehead against her shoulder, “I’m just not very good at this.”

“Not good at it? You obviously know how to make a woman –“

“I don’t mean sex. I mean, _thank you_. That was a compliment, right?” he looked into her eyes, looking for the courage to say what he wanted her to know.

 “You don’t need to explain.” Sapphire said “Let’s just keep thinking about the role-playing. You could be an unusually hot loan manager, and I could come into your office wanting to borrow money...”

 _Could she somehow know I work in a bank_? _Maybe she’s been trying to find out about me, too?_ “I don’t know, Sapphire, bank loans are serious business; I’d need you to show me your assets.”

“Or _I_ could be the banker, and you the businessman who needs a loan to start his own business. I wonder how you’d convince me."

“Have I mentioned this tie I’m wearing could double as a bondage toy? I bet it has lots of potential uses in the bedroom.”

“Or the boardroom?” Sapphire laughed, “We could ask for a room with a table and pretend we’re at a conference and weren’t able to stop ourselves from fucking on top of it.”

“Gods, I love the way you think.”

“My thinking is going to stop altogether if you keep touching me like that,” she said, reaching down to move his hand back to her thigh.

“You don’t have to think,” Jaime said, putting his hand back between her legs.

“The line has gotten smaller.”

“What? What’s gotten smaller?” Jaime asked, confused.

“The line, Ser. To get a room? Obviously there’s need of one, isn’t there?”

“Yes, I believe there is.”

 They got up and walked across the ballroom together, arms linked.

“I’m glad Dog went off with those women." Sapphire said, "Gods know what kind of role-playing he’s into. He looked like he’d really enjoy Dominating us both.”

“I think you’d like that better than I would, with that fucking mammoth trunk he's got between his legs.” Jaime said, immediately wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. 

“He was rather well endowed. Freakish huge, actually. I’ve never been with a man that big before,” she said, opening her eyes wide and batting her lashes. 

_Is she teasing me_? Jaime held his breath, unsure of how to respond.

Sapphire considered his serious expression for a few seconds, “Oh gods, you didn’t seriously think I’d go with him?”

“But when I came in, you two were –“

“He began nosing around me after you left last week. Even then I thought he was a creep. More than I believed you to be, at that moment.”

“I deserve that,” Jaime said, chagrinned, “My behavior last Thursday was inexcusable. It was difficult to hear that you weren't certain you wanted to be with me again.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to be with you. I said we shouldn’t make any commitments, because after this season we’ll never see each other again. As you see, we can still decide to be Paramours on club night.”

“So if I keep asking, you might keep saying ‘yes’?”

“Yes. But you can stop asking anytime, and there’ll be no reason for either of us to feel let down.”

“Do you really think I’ll stop asking? Or, are you trying to tell me that a time will come when you say ‘no’ and I should be all right with that?”

“Leo –“

“I’m sorry. I’ll let it go. But I am going to keep asking.”

Sapphire smiled, “But tonight you already have my ‘yes.’ Shall we get a room, or do you want to stay out here all night misunderstanding each other?”

“It would be okay with me if we took our misunderstandings to a room, Warrior Wench. Maybe they’ll give us a room with a medieval theme and we can defile the throne by fucking on it.”

“You’d be a bit anachronistic on a throne in that suit, fucking or not. You’d have to take it off.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, my lady.”

**Brienne**

There were no other couples waiting when Brienne and Leo arrived at the desk. 

“We’re ready for a room,” Leo informed the concierge, his grin smug.

“Sapphire and Leo,” the woman said, typing, then looked up at them with a puzzled smile, “I have you together in the system, but it appears you haven’t registered as paramours for the season.”

“No, we’re keeping things casual,” Leo told her with a sideways look at Brienne, “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Not at all. I’m afraid I spoke out of turn; I shouldn’t have assumed. Registered paramours get a few extra perks, but if you’re unsure, it’s best to remain ‘casual’ as you said. It can be awkward to change your mind later."

“What kind of perks?” Brienne asked.

“It varies, but things like being able to send brief messages or a small gift to each other through the club service during the week is very popular. Room requests in advance, an invitation to the Winterfest party; it varies.”

“I’d have been able to let you know I was going to be late,” Leo said pointedly to Brienne.

“Not this week, you wouldn’t have,” the concierge told him, tapping away at her screen again, “those privileges kick in after tonight. This week is a little like tryouts for a sport; by the end of this third session some members find they were hasty in their choice of paramour and decide they’d rather be free agents.”

“See?” Brienne said to Leo, “That seems smart, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Leo said stubbornly, and Brienne shrugged at the concierge with a strained smile.

“Your room is ready,” the woman said, pulling two card keys from a slot under the desk and handing one to each of them, “Second floor, the Street of Silk suite.”

Leo took Brienne’s hand and they walked out of the ballroom and toward the stairwell at the end of a long corridor. Curiously, Leo hadn’t suggested they stop to request whisky at the bar. Just as well, Brienne thought, after her hangover last Saturday morning. 

She probably shouldn’t have let something posted on the Whisky Lover’s board influence her, but she'd  already been feeling low after the way her night at the club had ended. CaskSlayer’s response to her post about why she was saving her most treasured bottle had rocked her: _What if you never find someone special enough?_ She could see the truth in those words on her tablet; her greatest fears backlit, black text on white. 

_What if I never do_? 

Keeping that one bottle for the day she could share it with someone special was one of the few secretly sentimental things she’d allowed herself in the last several years. It had been around for so long, like a fond hope, gathering dust at the back of her liquor cabinet. 

Brienne had caught herself imagining sharing that bottle with Leo, which she knew was about as far from a good idea as Winterfell was from King’s Landing. That Friday night it had made sense to remove the temptation by drinking the whole thing by herself. Ridiculous to have romantic feelings about someone she met at a club once a week for kinky play. _Adieu to disappointment and spleen! What are men to double malt whisky?_

Yet, here she was again, holding hands with Leo and fighting her feelings for him as they mounted the stairs to the second floor. He’d given her a terrible turn when it appeared he wasn’t going to be at the club, even though she'd been prepared and almost expecting to accept someone else as her Paramour for the night. 

Not Dog, though. Not tonight, not ever.

She’d been all too ready to punch that one in the gut for daring to touch her mask, and suggesting she wear her scar proudly, as he did his. How dare he pry and presume? She lived with that mutilation on her cheek every day; the club was her brief respite from reality. 

Dog was an altogether off-putting person, and that was _before_ she'd seen his Hodor. She smiled at the euphemism; the term had become popular for giant penises in honor of a popular porn star’s impressive member.

It _had_ been terribly amusing to see Leo’s reaction to the other man’s endowment, until she became aware that Dog intended to engage either her or her _and_ Leo for the night, and was walking straight at them with his cock and balls swinging like an impatient batter at home plate.  

“You’re awfully quiet,” Leo said opening the hallway door for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I was just thinking about Dog.”

“Hodor.”

“Hodor,” she confirmed. 

“I hope you can still be happy with me, after seeing what you might have had,” Leo said, half-joking.

“Because the sensation of losing your virginity again is what every woman wants.” Brienne said with a little shiver.

“How would it be like that?” 

“Painful, awkward…” _quite_ _possibly unpleasant._

“Oh. I guess ‘painful’ isn’t what a man thinks of when he sees an HWP like his.”

“HWP?”

“Huge Whopping Penis. My brother came up with that after seeing it in a personal ad. It’s supposed to mean ‘Height/Weight Proportionate,’ but as a shorter man he decided he liked his version better.”

“Huge Whopping Penis,” Brienne began laughing. The longer she thought about it, the funnier it seemed, and she nearly snorted with mirth. Leo was looking at her with a puzzled smile. “I’m sorry, I just have to tell Rose about that. We can add it to our list.”

“Your list.”

“Of funny terms for 'cock.'"

Leo shook his head, amused, “You constantly surprise me, Sapphire. It’s a rare talent.”

"Are you really all that world-weary and experienced?” She teased, as they stopped at a door marked “Street of Silk.” Beneath the words the ancient symbol for prostitution had been painted.  
                                                                                                                                                        
“ _This_ is all new for me,” he said, and stretched up to kiss her, “but I doubt I could ever weary of you.”

Brienne bent her knees slightly to equalize their height and they kissed until she was light-headed with need. When they parted, she traced the symbol on their door with her fingers. “What are they trying to say by giving us a room named after the red candle district?”

“I don’t know, but it gives me an idea.” Leo slid his keycard into the reader and opened the door. 

“What kind of idea?”

“Well, if we’re going to role-play…”

“Let me guess: you have fantasies of being fucked by a whore with a heart of gold?”

“Not exactly,” Leo told her, surveying the room, “Not that it’s a bad idea, but I was thinking we could change it up.”

Brienne looked around the room, expecting to find something that resembled a brothel, but instead seeing only opulence, a room designed around the senses with soft lights and softer fabrics, gold and peach and russet.

“Look here,” she said, going to a bureau that she knew would be stocked with toys just like the one from last week. There was a whisky bottle waiting there, and two glasses. “This is our whisky from last week."

“There’s a little note on it,” Jaime said, coming to stand beside her. He slipped the paper tied with gold cord off the neck of the bottle and opened it. Inside, someone had drawn a heart in red ink and written their names inside it. Leo & Sapphire. “It seems I’m not alone in thinking we belong together,” he said.

“You’re projecting,” Brienne said, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. Silly and sentimental though it was, she knew that little note would be tucked into her boot at the end of the night if she could manage it,. She might regret it later, when their acquaintance was long over and the little note only reminded her of them. In this moment though, the thrill of seeing their names linked within that heart made her absurdly happy.

Leo poured them each a glass of the whisky. “Now, about this idea I have…”

Brienne sipped the whisky, memories of how it tasted in his mouth and on his cock coming back to her so strongly that she hummed in anticipation. “Tell me,” she said, carrying her glass to the bed and sitting down.

“How would you like your own gigolo?” Leo said, sitting beside her and putting his glass on the bed table before taking hers and setting it aside as well. 

“You mean, like I’d hire you for sex?”

“I guess that’s the gist of it. Not a very romantic way to put it.”

“What’s romantic about paid-for sex?” _And how is that different from buying a season at the club_?

“Okay, maybe it won’t be romantic, but it will be _good_.”

“So I would just tell you whatever I wanted and you’d do it?” Brienne asked, wondering if she could direct a man in how to please her.

“Only if I allow you to. I’d be in charge. You’d need to trust me, Sapphire.”

“I’m not sure, Leo. I have a few issues about losing control, as you know. I’m more comfortable being the Top.”

“We did okay switching it up last week, sweetling, and it was amazing.” 

Leo’s expression was appealing, and Sapphire was wavering, “So, I have a nicely dressed, seriously handsome man come to my house and fuck me, and then I leave cash on the dresser for him, along with cab money?”

“All except the cash and the cab part, yes. But I’m not just going to fuck you. At least, not right away.  Will you play along? Just use your safe word if you need me to stop.”

“All right,” Sapphire agreed, her doubts turning into excitement.

“If you’re ready, then,” he said, taking a deep swallow of his whisky, “I’m going to go out in the corridor and knock on the door. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Okay,” Brienne said, and had a swallow of whisky to steady her nerves.

Leo got off the bed and she watched him walk away. _Surely having a man like him in real life will never happen, so picturing him as a hired lover shouldn't be too much of a stretch, right_?

Leo shut the door behind him and Brienne stood up, waiting for his knock. He wasted no time and she crossed to the door.

“Yes?” She asked, barely cracking it open.

“I believe we have an appointment,” Leo said around an impish grin.

“You don’t look like a pizza delivery guy,” she said, “You must want the people one door down.”

“Funny. Now do it again, in character.” He pulled the door shut and Brienne waited for his knock. He took his time.

This time she opened the door and pulled him inside, sticking her head out to look up and down the hall “Shhh! I don’t want my neighbors to see.”

Leo rolled his eyes, “That would be why I’m not dressed like a sex object,” he explained patiently.

“Are you kidding? Any woman would eat you up like a yummy biscuit in that suit.”

“I think we need to start over again,” he sighed, turning to leave.

“Wait, do all gigolos arrive pre-aroused? Because that’s either a hell of a banana in your pocket or you’re really devoted to your craft.”

Leo walked out the door again. This time he took even longer to knock. 

When he did, Brienne started to open the door, another clever greeting on her tongue, but Leo pushed his way in and aggressively pulled her into a kiss, his hands tangled in her hair, taking charge. She could still taste the whisky on his lips, and her joke was forgotten as the feel of him fired her imagination. 

“I hope you’re ready for this,” he said, and she saw for the first time how his dimples and warm eyes could be transformed into something strong and forbidding. He looked born to play the part of an executive with his severe expression and posh clothes. Or that of a strict Dom, ready to take care of his sub.

“I am,” she confirmed.

“Good. You’ll do as I say, Sapphire. It’s what you hired me for,” he reminded her, not breaking character.

“O-okay,” she said, backing toward the bed, wondering how long it would take to finally get down to having sex. Maybe that would be the first course? She didn’t think she could be more ready.

“Not there,” he said, “I want you over here, where I can see you.” He was pointing to the floor in front of what she knew to be the sliding door covering a St. Baelor’s cross. He turned up the spotlights and she hesitated. “I won’t be denied.” he said, “You’re not paying me enough for that. I intend to enjoy this, too, and that means I’m going to touch and look at you all I want.”

She put her shoulders back and walked to the spot he’d indicated.

“Take your boots off.”

She bent to slip them off, losing several inches of height in the process. Leo walked up to her, and she was surprised at how well matched they were, and how that only made her want him more.

He stood and looked at her face for an uncomfortably long time, finally raising his hand to stroke a fingertip along her jaw and up to her lips.

“Such a gorgeous mouth,” he said, leaning in to pull her lip between his teeth before running his tongue over it. Brienne held in a gasp. He was too good at this; the way he was looking at her, she could almost believe him. 

He stroked his thumb over her unmarred cheek, then down her crooked nose, feeling the break near the middle and learning the shape of it. Moving his fingers to the longer side of her mask, he stroked the soft fur. Brienne closed her eyes, torn between panic and desire. 

“Look at me, Sapphire. Don’t hide those eyes from me. I could get lost in them forever and never regret it,” he pressed his bearded cheek against her smooth one. She opened her eyes and he stepped back, a wistful smile on his face. “Astonishing. They put the sky to shame, they’re so clear and blue.”

Brienne was about to deflect the compliment, but he guessed her intention and put his fingertip against her lips in a shushing gesture.

“You’re not allowed to disagree with me.” He said, and she nodded. “This bodice is very fetching,” he continued, “And I’m sure you knew how it would torture your lover tonight, having to the see just the barest pink edge of your nipples peeking out.  Are they hard, Sapphire? Swollen and tender from pressing against this rough leather? When I put my mouth on them will you cry out?”

 _How could just his words have this effect on me_? He was right; she yearned for him to put his mouth on them, to make her writhe against him. _When_? _Soon_?

Leo got down on his knees before her, and she looked down at the top of his head, admiring his golden mane with the silver threads that caught the light. Draping his arms around her hips, he told her, "Later, this comes off. For now, it pleases me to see you in it.” He moved his hands down her flanks, pressing his thumbs along the line of her hip bones, moving down until he was stroking lightly between her legs.  Then he slid his hands up her hips and beneath the bodice to the waistband of her leggings. He began peeling them down slowly, stopping when he’d uncovered her lingerie; a bit of lacy green silk that hardly qualified as underwear. Brienne knew how drenched they were, and was mortified. 

Leo slid his fingers over the wet fabric and down her inner thighs, touching the moisture that had trickled down. “Gods, it’s hard not to just take you right here, knowing you’re this turned on.” He said, his voice rough, the edge of firm control blurred by need. He pulled her leggings the rest of the way off and stepped back, shaking his head. “Best assignment I’ve ever had,” he said, giving her a quick grin, “Even though I’m so hard right now that it hurts.”

“Will you show me?”

“You want to see it, Sapphire?” he said, dropping back into his role. He shrugged off his jacket and flung it on the bed, then lowered the zipper of his trousers, reaching inside to free his cock. “Is this what you were hoping for when you hired me, madam?” He moved close to her again and guided the head of it between her thighs, rubbing it against the wet silk of her panties. 

“Ser, this is exactly what I had in mind when I engaged your services,” Brienne said, her breath catching as Leo continued to caress her with his big cock “I do hope you’ll allow me to have some liberties with it later.”

“If you behave,” Leo said, tucking it back in his pants and out of sight.

“Maybe I can make up for not paying you enough by taking it in my mouth and licking it, just a bit.”

“I…no need for that. My enjoyment will come from pleasing you.”

“And then I could maybe suck on it for a while, just enough to make it throb a little harder against my tongue.”

“Sapphire,” Leo said, arching an eyebrow at her comically, “You’re stealing my act. I’ll never survive if you start talking dirty, too.”

“As you say, Ser,” she said, pleased with his reaction. 

“I say these need to come off,” he said, stepping forward and pulling her lingerie off, not gently. She felt the delicate silk rip and was surprised by how wanton it made her feel. All Leo needed to do now was back her against the wall and take her. She leaned her head back, the anticipation sending pleasurable chills through her.

Then she heard the sound of the door sliding away from the St. Baelor’s cross and realized that Leo had stepped past her and opened the compartment.

“Raise your arms,” he said, and she obeyed him. He cuffed them up to the wide X of the cross, taking his time as she tried to stay balanced on her feet, eventually having to brace her arse against the wood of the cross, her stance wide. 

“Gods, if you could see yourself – you look like some heroic goddess come down from on high, your chest still armored, but your arms bound and your cunt exposed.”

Brienne tried to picture herself as even a poor man’s goddess and failed, but Leo was looking at her so raptly that she tried to be convinced. “Why would I have, as you put it, my ‘cunt exposed’ if I was a goddess strung up like that? And why would I be strung up in the first place?”

Leo laughed, “Way to kill a mood, Sapphire.” He tried to suppress his smile as he continued, “In my male dragon brain, I guess I was picturing how the goddess would be there, captured and waiting for the, uh, hero? Villain? To come fuck her and...Okay, I’m a pig. It seemed sexy at the time.”

Brienne tilted her head at him, amused. “We are in a bondage club, Leo. I think you’re allowed those fantasies. And it was kind of sweet, the way you described it.” 

“Sweet,” he muttered, turning to sip his whisky, but she could see the edge of his smile. When he turned to face her again, however, his expression was stern. The quickness of his breathing and the way his white shirt was beginning to cling to his lightly sweating chest gave away the effort it was costing to take his time with this game. 

Leo strode over and grasped her ankle, positioning it against one leg of the **X** and securing it firmly with a cuff. When he took the other ankle and positioned it, Brienne would have fallen if not for the restraints on her arms holding her up. With the ankle cuffs in place she was nearly suspended, only her toes touching the plush carpet of the floor. She’d done this to Leo the week before; had he felt this vulnerable, too? Had he felt this sexy? 

“So many possibilities,” Leo mused, standing back to look her over. “I can do whatever I want to you, Sapphire.” 

“I want you to,” Brienne whispered.

Leo moved closer, stopping just inches from her, his hands at his sides, “How badly do you need my touch? Does being helpless like this turn you on?”

“ _No_. Yes. I don’t know. Don’t make me beg, Leo.”

“Sorry, begging is mandatory.”

“I’ll remember that, Ser, when it’s your turn.”

“Please do,” he said, his tone mild. “But right now the goddess in front of me is aching… is 'aching' a good word for it?” He stepped closer, cupping her sex with his hand. 

“Yes,” she gasped, thinking “ _Frustrated” is an even better word for it…_

He dropped his hand and watched her reaction, not missing the way she bit her lip to keep a groan of disappointment from escaping. Leo gave her a smile that was predatory and not altogether reassuring. He put his hand back between her legs, sliding his thumb between her folds and holding it still against her swollen clit for a long moment before moving it in small, hard circles.  

Her body responded instantly, a shiver running from her toes to the short hairs at the back of her neck. Never had she felt this kind of sexual need; she was almost desperate for Leo’s touch to continue. She hadn’t known it was possible to _want_ like this. Her hips were moving instinctively with the rhythm of his massaging thumb as she felt her climax building, building… The muscles in her legs and arms bunched and strained as she pushed against Leo’s hand, the sweetness of imminent release singing in her blood.

He moved his hand away and she cried out, panting in frustration. 

Leo retrieved her glass, tipping it into her mouth. He gave her several sips, and gradually her breathing calmed. He leaned forward to kiss her and she greedily latched onto his mouth, trying to keep him near. Just as she’d feared, he stepped back again and, literally, left her hanging. Any urge to maintain her dignity had fled with her almost-orgasm. 

“Leo, _please_.” 

In answer he knelt before her and cupped her arse in his strong hands before moving his fingers down the back of her legs slowly, his touch sensuous and firm. He stroked the bottoms of her feet so softly that the usually ticklish sensation became an erotic tingling that traveled up from her soles to join the intense, pulsating heat at her core. Leo continued, working up the front of her legs, tracing the shape of her muscular thighs, first with fingers, and then with lips and teeth.  
Brienne felt him cup her arse again, and then his mouth was where she wanted and needed him most, his tongue hot against her nub, and this time she did whimper. She tensed in her bonds, wrenched by the familiar misgivings of having a man licking her down there, despite how much she wanted it.  
Leo felt the change in her movements, the strain behind her moans, and looked up at her, “ _Trust_ me. You trusted me last week, do you remember?”

Brienne nodded, emotion making her chest tight. He’d made her trust him then, made her feel like his going down on her was what _he_ wanted, as much as she did. 

Leo stood up and pressed a light, wet kiss on her mouth, “I love your flavor and your scent, Sapphire. Can’t you taste how sweet you are when I kiss you?” He put his mouth on hers again, and Brienne opened to his tongue sweeping over hers, giving back her own flavor, intent on making her accept his enjoyment of it. He kissed her long and deep, his hands, urgently passionate and barely controlled, roving from her hair to her hips.  
When he stepped back he was shaking a little himself, “All I want,” he whispered against her mouth, “is to make you feel like this all the time.”  

_All the time_? 

Leo sank back onto his knees before her, and she forgot his confusing words, forgot to be self-conscious as he sucked her nub against his tongue and teeth. There was no longer any illusion of self-control as her body surrendered to what her lover was doing. The trust he’d asked her for was given; the need to hold back abandoned. When he slid two fingers into her cunt she felt herself already clenching around them, once again on the brink of breaking apart.  
She could believe herself a goddess, a being of pure passion tethered to this time and place only by the feel of her lover’s hands and mouth. She was calling his name, moaning it, a reverent chant as he continued to thrust and lick until she cried out, shaking as her climax crashed over her, relentless, wave after wave until she hung, limp and close to tears, in her bonds.  
Leo stood and wrapped his arms around her as she came back to herself. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling wrung out and weak, sweaty and utterly content.  
“I wasn’t planning to let that happen,” Leo said, and she tried to focus on the way his smile warmed his face, the crinkles of mirth around his eyes.  
“No?”  
“I meant to lead you on a bit longer, but I just couldn’t,” he bent to release the cuff on her left leg, then her right, “You were so sexy, and I couldn’t resist watching you come after making you that excited.” He reached up and released her arms, “Besides, I can always make you come again.”

“Kinda cocky, aren’t you?” Brienne gasped, letting him take most of her weight as she leaned into him.

“You have no idea.” he grinned, and half carried her over to the bed. “I hadn’t realized how risky it would be, watching you come. I nearly lost it myself.”

He sat her down on the bed. She resisted the urge to flop onto her back. Even her teeth felt wobbly.

“You would have been able to come without any touch?” she asked, trying to lie back gracefully in the confining bodice.

“Ever heard of a wet dream?”

“Please tell me you don’t still have those.”

He laughed, “Just an analogy, Sapphire.”

“Not an entirely sexy one, either,” she sighed, but couldn’t help smiling, “I notice you’re still dressed, by the way. I’ll forgive you for the wet dream image if you give me something more appealing to look at.”

“I’m not sure our contract stipulates that I should undress on your orders.”

“You sound like a lawyer. Are we still role-playing? I’m pretty sure I paid for the whole show, and that includes one very naked lion.”

“Do you want to take your bodice off first? It looks uncomfortable to lie down in.”

Sapphire groaned. He was right, but the damn thing was complicated to put on or take off and she was certain her hands, like the rest of her, were still trembling.

“Roll over,” he told her, and then, when she hesitated, flipped her himself, earning a muffled _bastard_ from Sapphire. “Oh, look, I think kissing your arse is part of the employer/employee covenant.” He put his lips on her bare bottom and made a smacking noise.

“You better believe it,” she said, “Arse kissing, boot licking…you can skip that part about the boots, by the way.” She sighed as he loosened the first ties on the snug bodice. “Will you be able to help me get back into it later?”

“Your top? Probably.”

“Probably.”

“Uh huh,” he said, trying to loosen a knot with his teeth, “But this is pretty complicated, and I’m just a gigolo.”

“A gigolo in a thousand dragon suit,” Brienne pointed out.

“I’m that good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, once again, for reading and commenting! I know it's been a long wait to get them back together in the club. This is part I of II for Thursday night. It got kinda...long.
> 
> We greatly appreciate your kudos and remarks. It all keeps this fic alive, and we love it when someone who has been reading but not commenting drops us a line, as well as treasuring our darling regular commenters. 
> 
> Can't wait to read what your impressions were of all that happened in chapter 15.


	16. Victory Heart, Feral Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The culmination of Jaime and Brienne's (Leo and Sapphire's) third week at Sand Club. Warnings for blatantly sentimental romance and smut.**  
> 
> The title of this chapter was a difficult choice. "Victory Heart" is taken from the Icelandic meaning of Sigur Rós (actually named for lead singer Jónsi's younger sister Sigurrós). Feral Love is inspired by a song by Chelsea Wolfe used in the first Season 4 Trailer for Game of Thrones. The lyrics are here and a [video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49MYJkEazIg), but don't expect to see anything resembling this story in the video.
> 
> Around 6000 words. Enjoy!

“I’m that good.” Jaime told her, smiling; their role-play had worked out better than he’d hoped, and there was more to come. Of course, he had to get this bodice off of her, and it wasn’t cooperating. “Did you lace this up yourself?”

“You can tell?”

“This knot isn’t budging.” He pulled at it harder with his teeth. “ _Graddakh_!”

“Uh oh, that didn’t sound good. Did you break it?”

Jaime looked at the laces of her bodice, now in two uneven pieces. The knot at the end was still intact and he let it fall from his mouth. “I’m sorry, Sapphire. That lacked a certain finesse. But now I can take it off of you.” He quickly undid the remaining laces and dropped them on the floor. 

Sapphire turned onto her side and sat up. “Don’t worry, Leo,” the untied bodice belled out stiffly from her chest, “This isn’t awkward at all.”

“I’m sorry, sweetling,” he grinned, taking the bodice by the shoulder straps and sliding it down her arms to lay it on the floor. She was still flushed, trusting yet wary. 

Jaime stretched out next to her, opening his arms to coax her down beside him. Much as he’d been looking forward to having her nude, his instinctive need to protect and soothe her was strong 

Sapphire looked down at him and laid her palm on his chest, “Oh, no you don’t,” she chided, “Promises were made.” She began loosening his tie while he looked up at her. “Hm, what shall I do with this?” she asked, working it over his head.

“You could wear it around your neck as the gods intended,” Jaime suggested, “Or I could tie it on you like I did with rope our first week.” 

“A crotch tie?” Sapphire mused, holding it up and twirling it in one hand. “Intriguing, but tonight I think I’ll just be traditional.” 

“It goes with your eyes,” Jaime told her as she adjusted it loosely around her neck, “which is probably why I picked it.”

“I thought you weren’t planning to wear it here tonight?” 

“I wasn’t, but it doesn’t follow that I wasn’t thinking of you when I chose it this morning.”

“Really?” she swung one leg over him, straddling his hips, “Not just a coincidence, Leo?”

“I think of you too often for it to have been coincidence. Call it synchronicity that I wore it here and that now you’re wearing it.” Jaime took the dangling dags of the tie and pulled it hand over hand until their noses met. “So tell me how much of a coincidence it was that you were wearing those green silk knickers tonight. Were you thinking of me? Of _my_ eyes?”

“They went with the green bodice,” she whispered against his mouth, grinding slightly on his erection, “I didn't think of you at all.”

With a groan, Jaime caught her lower lip in his teeth, letting go of the tie to slide his hands from her ribs to her hips. “Liar,” he groaned as her mouth came down on his, silencing him for several long moments. Sapphire had just flipped their game around. 

Jaime was her captive, and his imagination raced as he pictured her like this in his office, riding him in his chair, her breasts against his dress shirt, his slacks rucked up and damp between them, both so deep in the need for each other that nothing would keep them apart

Sapphire took his lip lightly between her teeth as he’d done hers, and pulled back a little, breaking the kiss. She slid her fingers out of his hair, leaving his scalp tingling from how tightly she’d been grasping it. She smiled down at him, with hopefully with more than fondness. 

Her strong hands slid from his belly to the neckline of his shirt, and she undid the top button. “I must have gotten a little carried away. Your mouth is irresistible.” She moved down to the next button, then the next. Jaime was certain she could feel his heart pounding as he watched her face; her strong jaw, the crooked nose, her sensuous mouth. He wanted to see her without that damnable mask, wanted to know her face, to know _her_ without being bound by rules and restrictions. 

She reached the waist of his pants and untucked his shirt to get to the last buttons. He sat up and let her push it over his shoulders. It got stuck at his wrists and they both laughed shakily when she had to pull it back up to unbutton his cuffs.

“Sapphire, I only wish –"

She shushed him with a look. Jaime fell silent; he hadn’t known what he planned to say next anyway, only that he _wished._ He _hoped_. Despite the eroticism of her undressing him, it wasn’t just physical need pressing in on him and quickening in his heart. 

When she moved off of him to unbutton his trousers, Jaime quickly got off the bed, intending to lower the lights before things could go further. Sapphire saw the dampness of their excitement on the front of his pants and bit her lip, hectic color rising in her cheeks. “Oh, no. I wonder if they’ll dry before it’s time to leave?” she said, “I didn’t think about –"

“No harm done,” Jaime sat back down and tucked her under his arm, “This'll be my new favorite suit. I’m going to wear these pants to any and all future meetings to distract me from the boredom. They’ll wonder why I’m smiling for a change.”

“Hopefully you'll wash them first. But you really don’t smile at work? You’re almost always smiling when I see you.”

“No, I’m quite unpleasant in real life,” Jaime attempted to glower at her, “You wouldn’t like me much, I’m afraid.”

“I think I would…” she trailed off, afraid she’d said too much. 

Jaime kissed her shoulder and stood back up. “But you don’t think about me. I’m really a grouch and you’re still a liar. I 'm just going to lower the lights and get some water from the minibar. Do you want some?”

“Please.” 

Opening the bureau doors, he squatted down to look in the mini-fridge beneath the toy cabinet and pulled out two small bottled waters. “Do you want some music?” he asked, his back still to her, “Looks like a player comes with the room.”

“We can see what they’ve got,” she said. 

Walking back to the bed, Jaime saw she’d folded back the soft russet colored comforter and sheet. He handed her a water bottle and the player with tiny built-in speakers. She thumbed it on while he pulled the door to the St. Baelor’s cross closed and dimmed the lights. “I don’t know your tastes, but there’s a group on here that I like. Are you okay with indie bands?”

“As long as it’s not Dothraki Razorgrass, anything is fine.”

“No,” Sapphire laughed, “It’s quite subdued. The vocals are Lhazareen.” 

“You found Sygur Rós on there?”

“You know of them?” Sapphire said in surprise.

“Yes, sweetling. "'Victory Heart'. I even know some of the lyrics.”

“I should have guessed,” she set the player on the side table with the volume low.

Jaime grinned, gratified to find something else they had in common. He walked back over to Sapphire, who was sitting up on the bed.

“If you’re quite finished fussing with the room, I’d like to take these off of you now.” She tugged him closer by his waistband, unfastened his pants and slid them down his legs. Jaime kicked them off. She looked up at him, a promising glint in her eyes as she took off his briefs. She took his hard cock in her hand, leaning forward to kiss it. He groaned as she licked from the underside of his shaft to the tip, making his knees wobble.

“Gods, you’re going to be the death of me. Let me in the bed before you use me all up.”

Sapphire moved back to her side and Jaime lay down facing her. 

“You’re all over swan bumps,” he said, running his hand up her arm, “Are you cold?”

“I’m a little nervous, is all.” 

“Me, too. Sapphire, I know you don’t want me to say it, but this _is_ special to me. Making love to you for the first time, it means something.”

“Yes.” No misgivings, no doubts, only surrender in her tone.

They shifted their bodies together in a slow caress of hands, thighs, lips. Jaime had thought their first coupling would be frantic, too hot and passionate to hold back. Instead, the two if them moved to the dream-like pace of the music, neither in a hurry to be joined yet. 

His hands moved over her with reverence, fingers mapping the muscles of her arms, the smooth edges of her shoulder blades, and the silky feel of her skin where it rounded over her hips as she slid her thigh atop his. His fingers made furrows in the flesh of her buttocks and dipped into the dimples at the small of her back. Relishing the feel of her curved belly against his, the soft fur between her legs when he pushed his thigh up against her cunt. Sapphire moaned and wrapped her hand behind his knee, holding his leg tighter against her, rocking. 

His cock between them felt as though it were made of pure sensation as texture, heat, slow friction spread up his stomach and down his legs, his whole body alive with an aching joy. Sapphire’s hands on him were sure, solid. Nothing in the way she touched him was tentative, moving her hands over the back of his neck, his shoulders, his chest and waist like a sculptor, shaping and molding him until his flesh felt new-formed, just for her. Her feet and toes traveled along his shins and calves and tangled with his. 

Jaime moved on top of her so gradually neither seemed to notice until he was cradled between her legs, his thick cock throbbing between their bellies. Eyes heavy with desire met and held, ribs heaving as both paused, needing to mark this moment, this first between them. He raised his hips and put his tip at her entrance, pushing just inside of her moist heat. Sapphire arched her back and made a small noise deep in her chest, a moan of want, permission. 

Jaime was dizzy with the feel of her. He pulled out and pushed in again until the head of his cock was inside, more sensitive than he could remember it ever feeling before. Every nerve was alive to the feel of her when he slid home, sheathing himself in this woman who’d so enthralled him from the first time he’d met her. 

Her legs came up around his hips, ankles hooking over his back as he moved in her with slow, long strokes. She clenched around him and whispered his name, a reverent exhale that might have been sweeter still, if only…

_Jaime, my name is Jaime_ , he told her soundlessly, willing the knowledge of who he was, on her and in her. He put his lips on hers and whispered it silently against them, wishing she could tell him what he wanted to hear; her name, that she would be his as he was becoming hers. 

He rested his forearms beside her head and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, weaving her fingers through his hair, moving her body with an instinctual grace in harmony with his.  

There had never been anything like this in his life before, this slow burning, this making love without hurry, doubt, fear, guilt. It wasn’t the quick fuck he’d come to know from his youth or the measured thrusting he’d learned would bring a woman to her peak while he held himself in control. 

This was them, and it didn’t matter where they were going, only that it _was_.

“I could make love to you forever,” he whispered near her ear, _could love **you** forever._ Sapphire bit down hard on her bottom lip and her head went back, her neck cording with effort. The feel of her tightening on his cock making him aware of how near the edge both of them were. 

He reached between them to caress her clit, but she cried out, “ _No_. No, no, just…” And Jaime knew what she needed, because he needed it, too. He braced himself on his arms and drove into her hard.

“ _Yes_ ,” a pant, barely a word. 

He set a relentless rhythm, and Sapphire matched him thrust for thrust, a feral dance with neither holding back. Through the haze of his passion, Jaime could feel her hold on every inch of his cock as her pleasure unfurled. She pulled his head down, seeking his mouth. He surrendered willingly to her lips and teeth and searching tongue. With emotions spilling over until he couldn’t tell the difference between body and mind, he followed her into the oblivion of orgasm. 

Short of breath, slick with sweat, the lovers collapsed in a tangled heap. For a few seconds they merely stared into each other’s eyes, too stunned to speak, and then one of them grinned and the other chuckled. Soon both were laughing, a giddy, breathless sort of happiness and bemusement.

Sapphire smiled ruefully, “That was…intense.” 

“Worth the wait, then?” Jaime said, stroking a few sweaty strands of hair back from her forehead.

“So worth it.”

Jaime sat up to gather the covers she’d folded back earlier and then toppled next to her again, pulling the airy blanket around them like a cocoon. Sapphire nestled into his arms, making little contented noises as she fit herself against him, legs and arms entwining until she was holding him securely. 

Jaime felt as though _something_ needed to be said, but each thought seemed too much; too emotional, too needy, and too ecstatic to be spoken. Instead, he held her close, focusing on the feel of her breathing and on every place their bodies touched, warm and solid and _together_.

“Leo,” a benediction, little more than a huff of air against his throat. She’d tucked her head under his chin, lips and nose warm on his neck, the feathery edges of her mask tickling where they brushed against him.

“Sapphire,” an inadequate word, a false one, but with the all things he didn’t dare say wrapped within it. There’d come a day when he would say her true name, he was certain of it. 

She hummed, had a leisurely stretch and fell asleep with her arm draped over his chest. Jaime was content all the way down to his bones.

*~*~*~*~*

Opening his eyes in the dim room, Jaime felt like he’d been asleep a long time. If he’d dreamed, it would have been about just this: Sapphire cuddled up to him, one leg thrown across both of his, her head on his shoulder. He tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, warm from sleep. Her hair smelled faintly of night-blooming jasmine, a scent he remembered from the summer evenings of his youth in Casterly. 

The feathery weight of the comforter on top of them was perfect; ridiculously domestic, yet sensuous, like waking up together on a Saturday morning to the sun streaming in the window and the smell of coffee. 

Sapphire was waking up, and Jaime held his breath. The last time they’d woken up together hadn’t ended well. If she’d been concerned before about their connection becoming too deep, she’d be well panicked by the ardor of their lovemaking. That was, if she’d been as profoundly affected by it as he was.

“I haven’t slept that well in forever. Is it morning?” Her voice was drowsy, amused. “They’d have woken us if we overslept, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe they tried, but we looked so cute all snuggled up together that they decided to let us sleep.”

“Nice of them,” she yawned, curling her arm more snugly around his chest. 

Jaime allowed himself to breathe. She wasn’t retreating. He ran his hand down her shoulder and arm, earning a small hum as she moved her leg down his thighs, hooking her foot behind his shin. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked after they’d been silent a while. “I saw a menu on top of the fridge.”

“Famished. Shall I get the menu?” Getting off the bed before he could object, she crouched in front of the bureau and opened the doors to get the parchment booklet. When she stood and turned around, Jaime couldn't hide how much he was enjoying watching her, letting his eyes rove up and down her face and body, naked but for his tie. 

Sapphire looked unsure, but then squared her shoulders and smiled with only a little shyness. Her slow walk back to him was deliberate. When she got to the bed he lifted the edge of the comforter and she crawled in next to him. 

“I think you should keep my tie.” 

“A gift, Leo? Is that allowed?”

“I assure you my name is not sewn inside of it somewhere. I doubt it’s contraband.”

“I’ll think about it.” She held the menu up where they could both see it. It wasn’t extensive, but everything was well suited to eating in bed with a lover. “Sliced tomatoes with fresh aurochs cheese and basil, aged ham, Dornish bread with olive oil, grapes, berries with chocolate sauce…”

“Chocolate Sauce.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” 

“Me?” 

She laughed. “I’m starting to recognize that look, Leo.”

“Hm, the one like I want to do something incredibly dirty to you?”

“That’s the one.”

“Good. Hopefully you’ll see a lot more of it.”

“Hopefully,” Sapphire answered lightly.

Jaime pulled her on top of him, crushing the menu. “Don’t tease,” he said, “You mean it?” 

“Gods help me if I don’t,” she said, “Because I’m tired of you calling me a liar.”

“Does this mean that you’ll agree to next Thursday now, so I don’t have to spend the week in agony, wondering about it?” 

She kissed him, taking her time about it as his cock hardened between them. “Yes, that _would_ make things easier. I could just wear something green then, and not have to worry about whether it matches my lover’s eyes.”

“You can wear badly-tanned Dothraki horse-hide for all I care. Hells, wear an Essosi housecoat with ratty underwear underneath; I’d still want you.”

“I’m tempted to do just that, but they don’t make housecoats in my size. They’re always too short.”

“You act as though it would be on long enough for me to notice,” He stroked her breasts, delighting in the way her nipples grew taut when he touched them. “I wonder how long we have to fool around before the food comes?” 

“I imagine that depends on when we order it.”

Jaime rolled her off of him, stealing a condolence kiss. He opened the drawer on the bedside table and pressed a wooden button. A crisp voice asked what service could be provided and he ordered a selection of treats and the satchel from his locker.

He rolled back over, grinning, and leaned down to swirl the tip of his tongue over her nipple. “First course,” he said, sucking it onto his mouth while he teased the other with his fingers. Sighing, Sapphire lightly scratched his back with her nails.

Jaime raised his head, “Last week you asked me to show you how I get myself off,” he reminded her, “Will you show me how you touch yourself?”

“Will you keep doing…what you were just doing?” 

“This?” Jaime rolled her nipple between his forefinger and thumb, watching as her eyelids fluttered over half-closed eyes. She nodded and he took the other rosy bud in his mouth, positioning his head so he could also watch what she did.

She reached between her legs, tentative at first as she slid her middle finger between her folds. She took a shaky breath and began to move it in slow circles. Then she bent one leg and tilted her hips toward him, rubbing faster. Watching Sapphire with her finger nearly hidden between her legs, moving it confidently to her own rhythm was both sweetly intimate and achingly arousing.

This was how she’d touch herself when she indulged in thoughts of him, perhaps imagining it was his hand or tongue or cock making her feel this good. He wondered about the glass toy she’d mentioned the week before and felt his cock twitch at the thought that she filled herself with something long and hard, that when she came she’d clench it within her just as she’d done with him earlier. While the toy would be unyielding, if it were he inside she’d feel his heat, feel him throb and swell. 

Gods, he could imagine walking in on her and taking its place, fucking her like she deserved to be fucked. He moaned with frustration and want, his heart in his throat as Sapphire began to buck a little against her hand, tensing and gasping as her climax spread through her.

This time was different from how she’d come earlier, on the cross or in the bed. It was subdued, quiet. All the same, she was breathing fast, her body trembling against his. Jaime kissed her neck, then her lips, and she opened her eyes, looking up into his and smiling. 

“Hm, I think I’ve got a new fantasy for when I don’t think about you at home.” She reached down and wrapped a hand around his arousal, “But right now I want the real thing. That is, if you’re amenable.”

“If I’m ‘amenable’?” 

“Yes, That means that you –"

“I know what amenable means.”

Sapphire laughed, “Well, you sounded so uncertain.”

“It’s a funny word for how much I want to give you ‘the real thing.’” 

“For wanting it so much you sure are talky.”

Jaime was poised over her before she’d finished her sentence, running his teeth along her collarbone, tickling his fingers down her ribcage. “I’ll show you ‘talky.’” He reached up to wrap his fingers around her wrists and positioned her arms above her head, holding them against the mattress. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and she spread them wide for him.  She tugged against his grip on her wrists, challenge in her eyes. He held them tighter and she struggled briefly, testing his commitment to restraining her. Her chest rose, small, rounded breasts pressing into him, erect nipples enticing, still swollen from his mouth. 

For the second time that night, Jaime was overwhelmed by how deeply just entering her affected him. 

“I...the way you _feel_ , Leo,” Sapphire sighed, “there just aren’t words for it.” 

The sincerity in her voice arrowed straight to his heart and he closed his eyes, _I know the words, but I can’t tell you – yet_. 

Sapphire was already turned on and aroused from her earlier climax, and Jaime made love to her slowly, letting her drift on the waves of ecstasy he created in her. 

A knock at the door startled them both. “The food is here,” she said dreamily when he kept rocking into her.

“I know.” He pulled out and sat back on his knees.

Sapphire sat up, too, looking at his still-hard cock, “You didn’t get to finish.”

“I’ll live.” He assured her. “Maybe I should get the robe from the bathroom so I can get the door.”

“No need. I can go.” Sapphire picked his shirt up from the floor and put it on, securing a couple of buttons near her waist, taking the time to arrange the blue tie outside the collar. 

Jaime, naked, followed her to the door. A silver room service cart with covered dishes and a bottle of white wine on the top shelf and Jaime’s bag on the bottom sat just outside the door. Sapphire rolled it into the room and parked it on Jaime’s side of the bed. She turned to find him right behind her and smiled at him, edging past to get back to her side. 

He put his arms around her waist, “You look sexy in my shirt,” he told her, “I like how it almost covers you, but then, not.” He ran his hand down her hips, running out of shirt before he reached the top of her legs. He reached around and cupped her arse, pulling her against him. 

“I guess I just gave anyone in the hall a bit of a show.”

“Lucky them,” he said, releasing her to pick up the bottle of wine. “I didn’t order wine.” He looked at the label and frowned. It was from one of the Lannister wineries, one of the finer vintages. Ellaria’s idea of a joke, or a coincidence?

Sapphire got up on the bed and crawled over to her side. Jaime admired the way his shirt rode up and exposed her backside.

“Maybe they thought the wine would go better with our food than whisky?” she suggested.

“Whisky goes with everything.” Jaime told her, picking up the corkscrew and cutting the foil on the bottle. “Well, almost everything.” He amended, de-corking the bottle and pouring a glass for each of them. He handed one across to Sapphire.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever paired with whisky?” She asked, sniffing the wine.

“I think the worst pairing ever was on a windy beach party my brother dragged me to a few years ago,” he said, “Sand everywhere. No, wait, the worst pairing was at some gods awful function my father hosted. For some reason he’d hired a Dothraki garage band. I think his housekeeper’s son was in it. Pretty sure he was sleeping with her, now that I think of it. If there’s anything worse than Razorgrass, it’s Razorgrass with emo overtones.”

“I meant what was the worst food pairing, Leo.”

“That would have to be crisps, dearest. Even worse than it sounds.”

Sapphire was sipping her wine and choked a little, “Crisps?” 

Jaime nodded, setting a silver tray on the bed with a beautifully arranged plate of berries on it. Sapphire was looking at him with her brows drawn, and he wondered if she’d begun to question his judgment after finding out about the crisps. He put a plate of tomatoes with wedges of aurochs cheese next to the fruit. 

“I was hungry.” He said defensively. “And maybe a little drunk.”

“What flavor?”

“It was a fifty year –“

“What flavor were the crisps, I meant.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice.”

She shook her head, setting her glass on the tray and picking up a strawberry. She examined it idly, her eyes distant.

He held up the small pitcher of chocolate sauce triumphantly and set it next to the berries, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “What was your worst pairing?” he asked. 

“Like you, there were some memorably terrible pairings with people and situations. Otherwise, the worst thing I’ve ever paired whisky with was cherry-flavored Qorgyle Qola.” She put the strawberry in her mouth and chewed, “To be fair, it wasn’t my idea. My college days weren’t always marked by smart dating decisions.”

“Where did you go to college?”

“Leo. You know I won’t answer that.”

“Okay, but you can tell me your major. That’s not too personal, is it?”

“I think it is. I wouldn’t ask you that.”

Jaime put the last plate, covered with thinly sliced meat and cantaloupe chunks, on the tray. “You could ask me.” 

“I won’t.”

“I’m getting on the bed; you might want to pick up your wine to keep it from spilling.” He reached around and took his wine off the cart once he was across from her. “I’d tell you whatever you wanted to know.”

“It’s against the – “

“I know: it’s against the rules. To hells with the rules. I want to see you outside the club, Sapphire.” He held his breath, watching as her expression became guarded.

“We can’t. You know that. This is all we get.”

“I don’t care.” He took a drink of his wine, barely tasting it. “I want to take you out. I want to get to know you. Properly. I don’t want this to end in nine weeks.”

“Surely a man as handsome as you can find someone else to fuck,” she said, her voice tight. She was staring into her glass, a deep blush staining her cheeks and chin. 

“This isn’t about the sex, Sapphire. Go out with me this week; I won’t touch you if you don’t want.”

“I’m not a rule-breaker.”

“I am.”

“Aside from the rules,” her eyes flashed up to his briefly, and then she looked away again, “You’re just infatuated. We’re…we’d…it would never work out. You’ve somehow fallen for Sapphire, but the real me, without this mask, you’d lose interest.”

“I don’t know how you can say that,” he wanted to reach out, reassure her, “I know the D/s, the bondage, that’s something new for you. But who you are, the smart, interesting, real woman I see, that can’t be faked.”

“Don’t do this to me, Leo. Don’t ruin what we have.”

“We can quit the club, if you want.”

“Look at me,” she said, raising her chin and staring at him defiantly, “I am not a ‘pretty’ woman. Even with this mask, you must realize that. Don’t you think I can see how incredibly handsome you are? I’m like a gargoyle compared to you. How long until you realized you’d be better suited with a beautiful woman? Someone dainty, demure.”

“I don’t want dainty and demure. I want you. I want the tall, strong, confident woman in front of me. I’m not blind, Sapphire, I know you’re not a classic beauty, but your face, it’s –“

“If you tell me it has ‘character’ I will hit you.”

“I was going to say it’s dear to me, sweetling. I’m not going to lie and say that being attractive is a curse. It’s served me well. But beauty is not who a person is. I know people who would take your breath away with how gorgeous they are, but it doesn’t follow that their soul matches the outside. My brother, gods love him, is not an attractive man. Some would even argue he’s ugly inside _and_ out, but he’s not. He’s amazing.”

“Bully for him,” Sapphire muttered under her breath. 

“Is our looks your only real objection, Sapphire? You think I’m so shallow that I’d suddenly decide you weren’t pretty enough for me? That the way I feel when you look at me is a lie? I’m not going to pretend I don’t find you incredibly sexy, no matter how you judge yourself, but it’s what I see in your eyes that has me helpless before you.”

“If that’s true, I say again that you’re only infatuated. In too deep.”

“I may be in too deep. I may even be infatuated. No, I _am_ infatuated with you, but that doesn’t mean my feelings aren’t genuine. Maybe this is just you discriminating against me because I’m so handsome.” He tilted his head, posing for her, hoping to break the tension that seemed likely to tear apart what little they had.

“’Discriminating’ against you?” Sapphire said, her tone incredulous, but there was a tiny hint of humor playing about her lips. “Someone should. I bet you have a huge ego.”

“Guilty.”

“You’ve already implied you’re an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“For all I know you’re married.”

“I’m not. Are you?”

“No. _Shit_.”

“Now you’re really opening up.”

“I could be lying.”

“I’d fight him for you. But you answered that too fast. You’re not married.”

“But you could be lying.”

“I’m not. I may be an egotistical asshole, but I don’t lie.”

“You’re probably some creepy deviant, then.”

Jaime started laughing. He tried to take a sip of his wine, but ended up laughing harder and sputtered into his glass, dribbles of wine catching in his beard as he leaned back on the bed, his belly shaking with mirth. Sapphire watched him, confused.

“I never took you as being irony impaired,” Jaime chuckled, “You’re asking a naked man in a bondage club, that you’ve done all manner of smutty things with, if he’s a deviant. What does that make _you_?”

“Shit.”

“Wench, I don’t think I’m a deviant, but if I am, you’re the only one I’ve been deviant with.” He wiped at the edges of his eyes, where moisture had leaked as he was laughing. Sapphire was smiling sheepishly, and he knew the terrible tension of earlier had broken. 

“I concede,” Sapphire said, pouring a little chocolate sauce over a pyramid of raspberries, “You’re probably not married, you’re no more deviant than I am, and it’s no surprise that you’re insufferable in real life. I’m still not going to go out with you.”

“Maybe I can convince you? If I work at it, maybe if I give you the best sex you’ve ever had, you won’t be able to resist seeing me outside the club after a while.”

“It’s already been the best sex I’ve ever had. But 'I’m not some starry-eyed waif who’s going to succumb to your pelvic sorcery.'”

“Wardens of the Wanderers, good movie.” Jaime grinned at her, “The best sex, really?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“It’s the best because it’s you. It’s _us_.”

“So you’re saying it was good for you, too?” Sapphire stirred the berries with her finger, then put it in her mouth and sucked the chocolate off, aware that he was watching her hungrily.

“You’ve spoiled me for life. I meant it when I said I could make love to you forever.”

“Leo…”

“Now I can’t even compliment you? Oh, oops, I just told you how I feel.” He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “Again.”

“Again.”

“I’m willing to accept that you won’t admit to returning my feelings, but are you going to make me pretend not to have them myself?”

“You have no sense of self-preservation?”

“Not about this. But I don’t want to drive you away. You’ll still be my Paramour next week, won’t you? I haven’t fucked that up?” He was suddenly afraid that he’d gone too far, and she not only wouldn’t go out with him, but she wouldn’t want to be with him at the club either. Sapphire didn’t answer for a long time, and the tightness in his chest began to hurt as he thought about this being their last time together.

“ _Maybe_ I’ve succumbed to your pelvic sorcery after all. Against my better judgment, I’ll be with you next week.”

“And you’ll think of being my Paramour for the season?”

“You’re pushing it, Leo.”

“One of my many faults.”

“You’re too charming, too sexy, too good-looking, your jaw could cut glass, and you snore. Your faults really are many.” She teased.

“I snore?”

“Uh huh.”

“Sorry.”

“It was really kind of sweet.”

“Hah! I knew it – you’re smitten.”

“Shut up and eat something. It has to be close to time to go.”

As though she’d summoned it, a chime sounded from a speaker hidden somewhere in the room, and Ellaria’s voice announced the ten minute warning.

“We could always go find an all-night restaurant,” Jaime suggested.

Sapphire pursed her lips and got off the bed, ignoring him. She picked her bodice and the broken laces up from the floor and looked at them doubtfully. “Do you have another shirt in your bag?”

“Why don’t you just wear that one? It goes with your tie.”

“Thank you. I will.” She buttoned it and went to find where he’d tossed her pants earlier. She picked up the torn green panties, shrugged, and threw them on the bed. “I guess I’ll have to throw those out.” She found and worked the clingy pants up her legs, not noticing when Jaime picked up the lingerie she’d thrown next to him.

He laid them over his knee, wondering if it would seem too weird if he kept them. Setting them aside, he got his bag from the service cart, pulling out a black long-sleeved shirt. He put it on and followed that with clean underwear and ash-gray sweatpants. Sapphire had put her boots on and gone into the bathroom. Jaime got up and gathered his pants, briefs, and suit jacket, bundling them and the panties into his satchel. He put his shoes on and went over to the bureau. He was standing there when Sapphire came out of the loo.

Jaime put down the whisky bottle he’d been looking under. “Have you seen the note that was on this?” he asked, “I’d like to keep it.”

Sapphire colored and bent to reach into her boot, pulling out the paper with the heart. She held it out, embarrassed. 

Instead of taking it, Jaime hugged her to him, the knowledge that she’d secretly taken their linked names as a souvenir making him hopeful and happy. “Keep it,” he said, and felt her nod in agreement. He let her go and stepped back. It was there in her eyes, for just an instant. _She’s in too deep, too, but she’s not running away_.

“Are you ready?” he asked, taking her hand to lead her over to the bed so he could retrieve his satchel and her bodice. He had her promise for next Thursday, and no intentions of giving up his search to find out who she was and make her his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line, "I’m not some starry-eyed waif who’s going to succumb to your pelvic sorcery." is quoted from Guardians of the Galaxy (Wardens of the Wanderers here). 
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments on the last chapter! Really, you have no idea how much they mean to us. Please keep it up! This was a very intense chapter to write, and your encouragement and eagerness for updates makes it all worth it. It was exciting to see new commenters chiming in, and we hope for those few who normally comment but didn't on the last chapter that you're still reading along. 
> 
> This chapter was almost split between Jaime and Brienne's POV, but ended up being all Jaime. The next chapter will be all Brienne, and there will be insight into how she felt about making love with Jaime and being asked to see him outside the club, plus some unexpected developments during her week.


	17. Boyfriend Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third Thursday night session comes to an end in an edifying manner. Brienne goes home and makes a surprising discovery. An important phone call at work disrupts her day.

Brienne held out the piece of paper she’d been hiding in her boot, thoroughly mortified to be found out. Before she could offer an explanation, Leo had captured her in a tight hug. No embarrassment for him over wanting the note himself. After an instant's hesitation she hugged him back, though not with the same easy enthusiasm.

Leo let her go. "Are you ready?"

_No_. Brienne nodded and they went to gather their belongings.  

Picking up his satchel and her bodice, Leo looked longingly at the rumpled bed and their discarded tray of snacks. “Maybe no one will notice if we stay.” 

Before Brienne could reply, the three-tone chime sounded, signaling the end of the third session at Club Sand. With shared looks of disappointment, they left the Suite of Silk, stepping into the deserted hallway to head for the stairs.  

Leo casually took her hand as they walked. His palm was warm and smooth, but the pads of his fingers were slightly roughened from irregular labor. The hand of a businessman, perhaps, but one with more physical hobbies like woodworking or gardening. Brienne wondered what he might guess about her, with palms callused from ocean kayaking and fingertips lightly scarred by the chemicals used in lab work. Would he even be curious enough to think about such things?

The novelty of just holding hands with Leo had already given way to a surprising familiarity. Dating men, sometimes sleeping with them, was something she’d done since college. She'd never held hands with any of them, or thought of one as her boyfriend. _Is this what it feels like, to be_ ** _with_** _someone, to be their girlfriend_? Not that she was Leo's, of course. 

She glanced at him walking beside her; the wheat-coloured lion mask, his prominent nose, and the way the dimple in his cheek made an apostrophe over his mouth when he smiled.  He’d no doubt had lots of girlfriends. Holding hands must mean very little to him.  

They stopped before the heavy door to the stairwell and Brienne opened it, chivalrously standing aside for Leo to go first. He smirked up at her as he ducked under her arm, waiting until she was beside him again before continuing down.

After several steps, he stopped. Brienne went a step further and turned to face him.

“What’s the matter? Did you forget something in the room?”

“No. I just -” Leo leaned forward and kissed her with such sweetness that her heart lifted, happy to be with him, however briefly. 

He dropped the satchel and bodice on the stairs to wrap his arms around her waist as their kisses became more passionate, the need to steal a few more minutes together making them urgent. Brienne found herself smiling against his lips, failing to suppress a chuckle as her imagination raced.

“What’s funny?” Leo’s voice was muffled against her mouth, reluctant to stop.

“I was just wondering if anybody has ever fucked in this stairwell.”

“Hm, that turned on, are you? I’m game.” Leo pressed his pelvis against her to prove his point. 

Laughing outright, she held him tighter, shivering when he sucked lightly on her neck, “You aren't serious. We can't do that here.” 

“I don’t see why not.” He deftly undid her top button, still busily making her pulse throb, probably leaving his mark on her fair skin.  Leo loosened her tie and undid three more buttons, pushing the shirt to the side just enough to expose one breast. 

“Gods,” she gasped as she felt his lips close on her nipple, his beard scratchy on her skin, “We really can’t,” she told him, working her hands under the waistband of his pants and briefs to squeeze his arse and pull him even closer. 

“Why not? You like this too, don’t you?” His teeth grazed the little bud of her tit. 

It was all she could do not to beg, though she wasn't sure whether to plead with him to stop or to keep going. “There must be security cameras everywhere,” she reminded him instead.

“Is that your only objection?” he whispered, sliding his hand down to guide her hips, coaxing her into a slow, swaying dance with no footwork.  

What if someone _was_ watching them make out on the stairs? Brienne waited for the jolt of embarrassment and felt her courage stir instead. She pushed his pants down to the tops of his thighs, exposing him to the air and any cameras. 

_You wanted to see his cock, Ellaria?_

Leo drew in a shaky breath and looked down; watching as she lightly stroked him, fingertips teasing along veined ridges and over the tip. _Edifying_ , was that the word Ellaria used? 

“Sapphire,” he groaned, “We shouldn’t -” 

“You’re right.” Sinking to her knees, Brienne looked up teasingly. Alarm warred with guilty need in his eyes. She kissed the head of his penis, swirled her tongue around it, and Leo shuddered, the muscles of his thighs tightening to stop the shaking of his legs. She nudged his cock up against his belly and kissed the underside of his shaft, down to the soft skin beneath, gently sucking the skin of his balls while he stroked her hair.

Her power over him was thrilling. Was he only conscious of how she was making him feel, or did the idea of their unseen audience excite him, too? What _could_ the cameras see? Were they overhead, looking down at his cock rising between them? Was there a frustrated security person on the other end, only able to see his ass or her bobbing head? 

Or was it so common for couples to get it on in the stairwell that they’d installed cameras at all angles? 

She wrapped a hand around his shaft and put her mouth over the deeply flushed tip, caressing his balls with her thumb as she cupped them.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” his voice cracked. He was still watching, but his eyes were unfocused, slowly closing. 

Cheeks hollowing, she pulled him deeper, sucking and licking as she moved her mouth over as much of him as she could, hand moving on the rest of his shaft, hot and steely in her grip. 

“Sapphire,” his voice was almost too soft for her to hear, “My…my…” He left off whatever he’d been about to say. Girl? Paramour? Whisky Wench? _Love_? “You can stop. You should stop. I don’t think I _can_ , again. I’m not eighteen anymore.” 

It sounded like a challenge to Brienne. She took him in deeper, fucking him with her mouth until he made a noise that was nearly a whimper, and his balls tightened in her hand. 

“Oh gods, I’m going to come,” he rasped out, trying to pull away from her. 

She shook her head slightly; she wasn’t letting him go. Swallowing wasn't something she'd done before, had always seen it as an act of intimacy and acceptance she wasn’t willing or able to grant past lovers. But this man, Leo, for him she would try. 

With a single, uncontrolled thrust, nearly knocking her backwards off her heels, Leo came undone, his warm seed spurting into her mouth as he threw his head back, biting back his moans as much as he was able. 

Brienne let him finish before allowing his softening cock to slide from her mouth, trying to swallow and not dribble or otherwise show that she’d never done this before. She kissed the tops of his thighs before sitting and making room for him next to her. He sank down, remembering at the last second to pull his pants up before his arse touched the step.

Leo managed a weak smile and slumped against her, still breathing hard. Brienne grinned at him and licked her lips, expecting a clever remark about what she’d just done to him. Instead, he rested his forehead against her shoulder and slid his arms around her waist. 

With a stab of guilt, Brienne realized he was seeking out what she hadn’t thought to offer. In her limited experience, men usually just finished and shut down. They weren’t emotional during, or especially after, sex. 

She stroked his soft hair, a wave of tenderness spreading through her before it was replaced by a chill of misgiving. 

_I can’t fall in love with you. I won’t. I refuse to._

“We should go before they send someone after us,” Leo said, sitting back and re-buttoning her shirt, untouched as ever by the doubt that constantly taunted Brienne. He stood, smiling and offering his hand to help her up, “Next time, it’s my turn.” 

“I won’t hold you to that, Leo. We can check the stairway off our list, I think.”

“There’s a list? Can I see it? Where else did you want to be naughty?”

“There’s no list.”

“Yet,” Leo smirked as she tugged on his hand to get him going.

“I hope Rose isn’t angry that I made her wait.” Brienne worried when they’d reached the first floor and stepped through the door onto the hallway.  

“Would it help if I wrote you a note? ‘Please excuse Sapphire for being late. She was unavoidably detained, giving head in a stairwell.’”

“No need. She’ll enjoy trying to wheedle it out of me anyway,” Brienne told him with a sigh.

“What will you tell her?”

“She’ll just have to read it on my blog, like everyone else.” 

Leo stopped, “You have a blog? And you write about _this_?”

“Oh yes, it’s quite popular. Of course, I don’t use your club name. I just refer to you as the God of Sex.”

Leo laughed, but when they’d reached the end of the corridor, he stopped, waiting for her to face him, “Won’t you please reconsider meeting me somewhere later?” He squeezed her hand, eyes hopeful, “There’s an all-night diner just a few miles down the coast -” 

“We really can’t. I really can’t.”

“But you’d want to? If it weren’t for the rules?” 

Her chest felt tight, tight enough to strangle her heart, trying to beat its way out. “The club’s rules, _my_ rules.” 

He frowned, disappointed, but let her lead him around the corner into the nearly deserted ballroom. Margaery was standing with a chubby man in a text-covered mask. Her friend’s obvious relief when she saw them made Brienne ashamed for worrying her.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” She said as they walked up to the other couple.

“It’s all her fault,” Leo said with a crooked smile. She dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. “Ow!” He looked at her in mock reproach.

“I was worried someone had to be cut loose or something,” Margaery said, hands on hips, “It wouldn’t be the first time for this club. Nice shirt, Sapphire. I didn’t think it was possible to do a walk of shame in a bondage club.” She laughed at Brienne’s expression. “I’d like you both to meet Bookworm.” She turned to the dark haired man with the chin beard and mustache. “This is my best friend Sapphire and her Paramour, Leo.”

“We’re not P –“

“Good to meet you, Bookworm.” Leo cut her off, shaking the other man’s hand. He turned to Brienne, “And we are paramours, for the next week at least.”

“Lower case ‘p’,” Brienne clarified, accepting Bookworm’s hand. Had Margaery hooked up with him? He wasn’t her usual type. “Thank you for keeping Rose company. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not long enough.” the man said, turning moony eyes to Marge. 

“Bookworm was just quoting some lovely Dornish poetry,” her smile betrayed no dissatisfaction with this, and he beamed at her.

“Ah, um, well that sounds entertaining,” Leo looked worried he might have to listen to some himself. “We’d better get going before they suspend us for keeping the staff up past closing.”

Brienne had already noticed a few employees lurking unobtrusively by the closed bar and the dark stage. “Yes, I think we’d better.” 

The couples walked out to the lobby, where a drowsy-eyed attendant waited. “Your cars have been ordered, Sers and Ladies. Your belongings have already been collected and placed in your vehicles. Mr. Leo, yours is ready now.”

Brienne bent to kiss him. “Until next week,” he murmured against her lips, “I’ll miss you.” He handed her the green bodice and quickly booped her nose with his. Her nose tingled and she fought the urge to rub it.

Margaery’s car arrived next. Noticing she was in a clinch with Bookworm, Brienne walked outside to give her privacy. She was already in the passenger seat when her friend walked out, smiling radiantly at the valets before sliding into the car. She gunned the engine, winked at Brienne, and pulled around the drive to go down the hill.

“So, I take it that’s his shirt?” 

Let the interrogation begin. “Yes. He broke the laces on my bodice.”

“Ooh, sounds hot.”

“With his teeth.”

“Nice,” Marge whistled, “I do like a man with passion.”

“We weren’t – I mean, we’d already…but not that, it hadn’t…” Brienne trailed off, trying to sort out the sequence of events. He’d been pretending to be her gigolo, but that was before everything else. “He was just trying to untie it. I didn’t put on the shirt until later.”

Margaery nodded knowingly, “So he gave you the ol' ‘boyfriend material’ shirt and threw in the tie as well.”

“I’m only borrowing the shirt.”

“Sure. ‘Borrowing.’ And what did you give him?”

“He may have kept my underwear.”

“You don’t know?”

“Okay, yes, he must have kept them. Is that icky?”

“No, it’s sexy. What about the tie? Where does that come in?”

“He gave me the tie.” 

“I just bet he did, after he used it in other ways, I hope.”

“No,” Brienne mused, “we kind of forgot about doing that.”

“Please tell me he didn’t refuse to fuck you again.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“You better not have refused him, Brie, or I may have to pull over and make you walk home for being an idiot.”

“I did.”

“You what?” Marge swerved the car toward the shoulder.

“Gods, Marge!” Brienne’s hands flew to the dash, bracing for impact. “I was kidding. Don’t ever do that again!” Car rides always made her nervous after the accident.  

“Sorry. I forgot.” Her friend was chastened, but it didn’t stop her questions. “So, how was it? You sure took long enough. I thought after the final bell chimed that you’d be right out.”

“To save you from poetry boy?”

“Bookworm? He’s sweet. He reads beautifully.”

“And does he do anything else well? Was he your partner, or did he glom onto you later?”

“Oh, we spent the whole evening together.”

“And…?”

Margaery shrugged, a slight smile on her lips, “He’s surprisingly sexy. Sensuous, eager. Maybe a little clumsy.”

"Who was the Top?"

"Guess."

"You?"

"I've rarely seen a man so in need of direction," Marge took the turn onto the inland highway with more care than usual, "But given a clear task, he is quite diligent. I think he's read a lot of books on technique. All he needs is some real life coaching."

Brienne laughed. “The old 'Marge in Charge' scenario. Did you role-play?”

“Not really. Did you?”

“Y-yes,” Brienne said, cagey about sharing details. Margaery would certainly have a lot of embarrassing things to say about Leo being her gigolo.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay. In that case you have to tell me why you took so long after last bell.”

“It took a while to get down the stairs.”

“There are only four storeys in the whole building. How could it take that long?” Margaery looked over and laughed at Brienne’s expression, “You do know there are security cameras in there?”

“I suspected as much.”

“How did he convince you? You’re so camera shy and, let’s face it, a bit of a stickler for rules.”

“He didn’t need to convince me, because I was busy convincing him.” She felt triumphant, being able to surprise her more experienced friend.

“You make the Mother proud.”

“I try.”

“So what’s this about the ‘lower case p’? Did you really turn him down as your Paramour again?”

“I agreed to be with him next week.”

“There are perks to be had, you know. Aside from being practically obligated to fuck that delectable hunk of a man.”

“So I hear.” Brienne rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to confess how attached she was becoming to Leo. 

“You still seeing Hyle on Saturday night?”

“I said I would. Yes.”

“You know all he wants is sex, right?”

“Well I’m not going out with him for his scintillating conversation.”

“I don’t recall you over-praising his prowess, either.”

“I know. But Margaery, I have to prove to myself that I can still have a life outside the club. I need the reminder that sex is just sex…it doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does.” Brienne insisted, “We’re not expected to be monogamous, and I can’t let myself get attached to someone I have no future with.”

“How do you think Leo would feel about that?”

Startled, Brienne stared at her friend. How would he feel? He wasn’t her boyfriend, and she couldn’t start thinking of him as one. He was free to sleep around the rest of the week, too. She remembered the look on his face when she'd turned him down last Thursday, and the joy in his eyes when she'd kept the note. The possibility of hurting him made her queasy, and the color drained from her face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Margaery reached over and rubbed her arm.  “Oh, Brie, sweetling. I only meant for you to have a good time when I got you into this. I can’t stand to see you unhappy.”

Brienne turned her head away, leaning her forehead against the window. _This is why I can’t commit to him_ , she thought fiercely as the first tear fell, swallowing around a hard lump in her throat. Her tears were silent, shoulders steady, but her friend’s sympathy shredded the hard shell she’d been building since falling for Leo. _I shouldn’t have agreed to be with him next Thursday, either._

It didn’t take long to stifle her tears, but the rest of the drive was subdued, conversation turning harmlessly to movies and books. When Margaery pulled her car into Brienne's driveway, she got out with her purse and bodice and came around to hug her friend through the lowered window. 

“Call me." Margaery warned, "Or I’ll call you!” 

Brienne nodded and walked up the dark path to her house, boots crunching on gravel. Standing in the circle of porch-light, she opened the front door and waved as Margaery backed the car into the street and drove away.

Grumkin met her at the door, tail in the air, his questioning mewls making her smile. “Don’t ask,” she told him, and he turned and raced into the kitchen. After he’d been fed, she went into the bedroom, tossing her purse on the bed and the bodice in the corner. 

Kicking off her boots, Brienne groaned with relief at being flat-footed again. She stood, staring at her bed for a moment, debating whether or not to shower before going to sleep. Her thighs felt sticky, and her make-up was smeared, her eyes sore and itchy.  Heaving a sigh, she picked out a nightshirt and underwear and went to the washroom. 

She examined her reflection for a moment before smearing a glob of make-up remover over one eye. Wiping the kohl away with a soft tissue, she watched as her eye become bland, undefined. Long, fine blond lashes did little to bring out the blue of her irises. She rubbed away the light brown liner on her eyebrow and the lipstick on that side and stood back to analyze the effect. 

Half of her face was familiar; ugly, scarred, pale. The other was better, her right eye outlined with heavy make-up, highlighting her best feature. Her over-full lips looked almost voluptuous with the hint of lipstick remaining. 

Brienne imagined Leo seeing her as she really was, without the artifice of mask and make-up, and in the light of day. _He’d back off in a hurry if he ever met the real me_.

She removed the rest of her make-up and hung the blue necktie on the back of the door before removing the shirt. She draped it over the towel rack and stepped into the shower. Exhaustion washed over her along with the hot water. She resisted the temptation to slide down the wall and huddle on the wet tile.  Lathering her hands with a lump of almond soap, she scrubbed from her neck and shoulders down, unable to keep from thinking of Leo when she encountered the lingering soreness between her thighs. Their love making had been intense, and she wasn’t accustomed to his size. She washed the last traces of him from her skin and watched the soapy water swirl down the drain. 

She dried off and got dressed before taking Leo’s shirt back to her room and laying it on the bed so she could move her discarded boots to the closet. 

_The note_. Was it still in her boot? She reached in and felt around, finding nothing. It wasn’t in either of them. Brienne spun around, scanning the floor for it. Had it fallen out on the stairs at the club?

“Fuck,” she muttered, giving up. Grumkin was waiting on the bed, already lying on the sleeve of Leo's white shirt. “I’m too tired for this,” she told him, “move over.” She rolled him to the side to get into the bed, and before he could claim it again, pulled Leo’s shirt under the covers with her, feeling foolish.

She took her tablet out of her purse and turned off the light. Sleepy as she was, she always checked email before going to sleep. She touched the mail icon and scanned the messages from the previous several hours. Ads for restaurants and male enhancement products, a notification that she’d been tagged on MyFace, a renewal reminder from LabRats Monthly, the quarterly offering from Whisky Direct. She stopped scrolling and stared at the email. She wasn’t interested in the selection, a single malt from a large distillery in the South, so what had caught her attention…?

Whisky.

She’d forgotten about Leo admitting he ate crisps with whisky. _Who does that_? Brienne closed her email and brought up the Whisky Lovers forum, sleepiness forgotten. She selected Private Messages and opened the folder. There were a series of conversations with members over one thing or another whisky related, but the one she was looking for was right at the top. CaskSlayer. 

**03:42: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : So did you open that bottle you were saving?

CaskSlayer had never sent her a message before, but he’d been on the board as long as she had, a couple of years at least. They’d had a few back and forth discussions on the forum, but she couldn’t remember much about them. She barely recalled this conversation, since she’d been nearly passed-out drunk at the time. Brienne skimmed the text looking for ‘crisps.’ She found what she was looking for:

**04:05: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : Don’t fell bad, I’m eating crisps with mine.

It probably _wasn’t_ Leo. Her obsession with him obviously teetering from ridiculous into delusional. It was only coincidence that she knew of two men who’d eaten crisps with whisky. Maybe most men did at one time or another and it was their dirty little secret, like masturbating into socks or peeing in the shower. 

She read the rest of the thread, smiling as CaskSlayer’s typing began to show his inebriation and hers got even worse. Near the end of the thread she read something else she barely remembered:

**04:36: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : Was there some one special you where hoping to share that bottle with?

 **04:39: IM: Whisky_Peat to CaskSlayer** : Was. 

She’d really been sloshed and feeling sorry for herself. Thursday night hadn’t ended well, and she’d been trying to exorcise all her stupid fantasies about Leo, including the one about him being the man she’d open that bottle for. 

Brienne scrolled back to the beginning to re-read what led up to the crisps revelation. 

**03:59: IM: CaskSlayer to Whisky_Peat** : I took my own advice and opened a bottle I’d been saving, too. 

No, it was too neat. CaskSlayer also feeling the need to kill a special bottle of whisky? Leo had been upset when they’d parted the night before, and he loved good whisky… She recalled him wanting that note, could picture him being too sentimental for his own good. 

Her heart was racing as she fumbled to find the original post he was referring to:

**09:21: CaskSlayer** : Peat, what if you never find someone special enough to share those bottles?

CaskSlayer’s cynical response had spurred her to drink that whisky, reminding her not to hope for what she might never find.

_I took my own advice_ , he'd written.

It hadn’t been advice so much as admonition, a bitter warning about the perils of hope. That had been Friday morning, and Leo _might_ have been feeling hopeless and rejected. No, if Leo’s feelings were genuine, he _had_ been feeling that way.

What if Leo really was CaskSlayer? The possibility stunned her; unasked, she might have been given a way to find out more about him. This was definitely worse than sleeping with his shirt, as guilty pleasures went. 

Glad that her tablet had a nearly full charge, Brienne propped several pillows behind her back and began combing through posts that CaskSlayer had originated or commented on, not sure what she was looking for. 

Picking a point about sixteen weeks back, she worked her way forward. This CaskSlayer was an interesting character, whoever he was. Full of snark, a little arrogant, something of a troll when he was trying to drum up discussion or put someone in their place. His punctuation left something to be desired, and his misspellings almost made her hope it wasn’t her Leo. 

Time passed quickly as she read. Soon the crows were waking up outside and calling to each other from the trees. Dawn was coming, though fog off the ocean would hide the sunrise. It often hadn’t burnt off by the time she left for work, which was usually in a couple of hours. Brienne’s eyes were tiring, and she was about to give up and get what sleep she could. 

Just one more post. And another. And this boring one here about vanilla notes in whisky from over a week ago. She’d skimmed it when it was fresh, annoyed that the members were dividing whisky tastes down gender lines, and that some condescendingly believed women could only be coaxed into trying whisky if it was milder and sweeter. CaskSlayer’s comment was at the end of the discussion, several days after everyone else had lost interest:

**11:53: CaskSlayer** : I had the opportunity to offer a woman I know a glass of Rebel’s Reach, a single malt with heavy vanilla overtones, from the Redwyne Straits distillery. Her reaction, and I quote, “It’s good, but a little wimpy.” 

**12:15: JustaDram** : A woman called Rebel’s Reach wimpy? LOL.

**12:17: CaskSlayer** : Probably not a fair test, as this woman really knows and enjoys whisky, Dram. 

**01:35: JustaDram** : Sounds like a keeper.

**01:59: CaskSlayer** : Yes.

Brienne stared at the exchange, reread it several times, and double-checked the date. CaskSlayer had made his comment the Tuesday after their private conversation over IM on Saturday morning, and five days after Leo had gotten them Rebel’s Reach from the bar at Club Sand.

_It’s good, but a little wimpy_. Her words. And now she’d spent the night reading his, Leo’s, words. 

Suddenly the stretch of time between now and Thursday night didn't seem so empty. CaskSlayer and Leo were the same man, and he was right here, just a post or message away. 

Brienne’s hands were shaking. She laid the tablet down and closed her eyes to think. It seemed wrong to invade Leo’s privacy, but Whisky Lovers was just another anonymous forum, wasn’t it? This didn’t rise to the level of stalking, surely? She picked up the tablet again and her fingers hovered over the post that proved not only his identity, but his regard for her. She carefully scrolled to the next post. Then the next.

*~*~*~

The fog had gone by the time Brienne opened her eyes, the tablet pressed to her chest by Grumkin lying atop it, meatloaf-style.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” She rolled to the side, dislodging him, and the tablet alarm that had been muffled by the cat filled the room with a repeating loop of Ride of the Targaryens. Swiping her finger across the screen to turn off the alert, Brienne squinted at the time. “Thanks, cat. Now I’m late.”

Grumkin mewled at her and ran from the room, hoping for breakfast. She’d fallen asleep after catching up with the final post to the board; something about vatted malts that had, apparently, bored her to sleep. Now the sun was bright across the bed and Brienne tilted the tablet to shade the screen. A quick refresh showed no new entries from CaskSlayer in the Whisky Lover’s forum. 

A quick check of her email, a furtive sniff of Leo’s shirt, and she got out of bed. Grumkin strolled back in to remind her that he hadn’t been fed and then ran ahead of her when she walked to the kitchen, knuckling her gritty eyes and yawning. 

A tin of food for the cat and coffee for her. No time for breakfast, and Brienne was glad she’d decided to shower the night before.  She put on jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shoes. While brushing her teeth in front of the mirror, she noticed the wild state of her hair, sticking out in wispy waves from forgetting to brush it before it was dry.  There were dark circles under her eyes, but they only made her smile, thinking of the night before. 

No one seeing her today would guess she’d spent her evening making love with a man in a castle, that she’d been willingly bound by him, or that she’d gone down on him in a stairwell. It was less far-fetched that she’d spent the rest of the night obsessively reading his forum posts, but she suspected most of her work associates saw her as nothing more than a dedicated scientist with no personal life or interests at all.  

She grabbed her purse and went through the laundry room door into the garage, where her large old car waited. Settling into the vast leather seat, she secured the belt, started the engine, and backed out of her driveway for the short drive to work. 

As a child, her father had taken her and Galladon for long drives down the coast in this car, speed limit be damned. She’d always felt safe in the massive vehicle, its steel frame a moving fortress between her and the world. Had they been driving Dad’s car that awful day, Galladon might have survived. 

The powerful engine rumbled, begging to be let out, but Brienne drove at a sedate pace, arriving at the university nearly two hours late. She was the supervisor of her department and kept her own schedule, but she was usually the first one in the lab, going over the previous day’s results and checking on new set-ups. 

Today, she walked into the controlled frenzy of a typical Friday.  Most of the employees would take the weekend off, so they’d be trying to get as many tasks as possible finished before then. Brienne took her tablet out and set it on her desk before stowing her purse in a filing cabinet. Ignoring the curious looks aimed at her for being late, she sat down at her desk and logged onto her computer, telling herself she could easily resist checking Whisky Lovers for a few hours. 

It was comforting having the tablet nearby, her only link to Leo aside from club nights. Much like the last couple of Fridays, she would find it difficult to concentrate for thinking about him. She wanted nothing so much as to go back and read everything he’d ever posted since joining the board two years ago. 

As she was musing on the prospect of doing just that when she got home later, her desk phone trilled and she picked it up.

“Yes, Pia?”

“You have a call on line 3.”

“I’m running a little behind today; can you take a message?”

“Um,” the woman’s voice was hesitant. She was a recent hire, and Brienne suspected she’d hadn’t been a secretary for long. “I think you might want to take this call. It’s from a Mr. Lannister.”

“Oh. Thank you, Pia. I’ll pick up.” Brienne sat up straighter, cleared her throat, and pressed the button for line 3.  “Good morning, this is Brienne Tarth.”

“Dr. Tarth,” the voice was deep, masculine, “Lannister here. Have you got a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Lannister. How can I help you?”

“We’ve got a bit of a situation, it seems. Do you recall the Groundbreakers Committee, out in central Braavos?”

“Yes, ser. They’re our largest benefactor for the Achondroplasia study, after you, of course.”

“Just so. It seems they’ve had a recent shake-up there, and the head of the committee, a Mr. Baratheon, was forced out over an unfortunate indiscretion or two.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Does that affect the study in some way?”

“His replacement, Dr. Pycell, is much more conservative in what he believes Groundbreakers should fund. To get to the point, Dr. Tarth, he believes Achondroplasia research isn’t important or high profile enough to make it worth their money.”

Brienne sat back, stunned. They’d made so many advances over the past year, and now some committee might shut it all down? “Did they see the article in Scientific Westerosi? We’re finally getting press, we’re making more progress every day…”

“I know. You and your staff are doing amazing things. As I’m sure you know, the study is quite important to me personally, as well. We need to be proactive on this; we can’t lose their funding.” 

“What can I do to help, Mr. Lannister?”

“I’ve asked them for a meeting to review our findings and what we hope to achieve in the future. I’m no scientist, Dr. Tarth, all I can do is present the human side of the disorder. I want you to go with me, talk test-tubes with them.”

“I… of course I’ll do what I can to help, but I must warn you: I’m no public speaker. I’m more likely to hurt the cause than to help it.”

“Come now, I’ve read your papers on the subject and you’re quite eloquent.”

Brienne felt panic rising, “You’ll find that I’m better at writing than I am at speaking to strangers. Research scientists are notoriously inept in public.”

“I’ll coach you; you’ll be fine. I’ll have my assistant call you later to set up flights and a hotel. Should take two or three days at most. I look forward to meeting you at last, Dr. Tarth.”

“Thank you. I’ll look forward to the call then.”

Mr. Lannister rang off and Brienne leaned back in her chair. Not only did she dread having to plead her case to a committee head who wanted to defund the study, but the possibility she’d have to travel on a Thursday and miss seeing Leo was almost unbearable. So much for keeping her feelings for him casual. She glanced over at her tablet, repressing the urge to lay her hand on it for comfort. 

_He’s not in there, silly. Gods, I’ve got it bad_.

A distraction was what she needed, and Brienne shortly had plenty of that when a surly lab manager approached her desk, his lips pursed like he’d been forced to hold a small turd in his mouth without letting it dissolve.

“Dr. Tarth, I must speak to you about the way Dr. Qyburn is monopolizing the centrifuge. I’m not even certain he’s using it for its approved purpose.”

“I’ll speak to him about scheduling, Randyll, but I’m not sure there is a way to use a centrifuge for other than its intended purpose. What makes you think he is?”

“I think I saw him put something living in there, and he’s cackling to himself like some sort of…some sort of…”

“Mad scientist?” Brienne suggested, trying not to smile.

“Yes!” Tarly replied, outraged. “That man just isn’t right. He’s a bit old and crazy to be a lab flunky here, isn’t he?”

“He’s a couple of years younger than you, if I recall from his personnel file. As for being crazy, Randyll, may I suggest that we’re all a little mad here?”

The man’s face flushed an angry aubergine as he stared at Brienne, the metaphorical turd in his mouth ground into paste by the way his jaw was working. Without another word, he turned and stomped back to his station, muttering something under his breath about female bosses. Tarly had tenure, so Brienne just rolled her eyes and made a note to speak to Qyburn, who, she had to admit, _was_ a bit on the creepy side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Nurdles: My apologies for the long delay in updating this story. Thank you all for sticking with it while I got my poop in a group. 
> 
> To those who will (hopefully) comment on this chapter, and those who left or continued to leave lovely comments on the last, you inspire me to keep going and bring me so much joy. I look forward to reading your thoughts and and angst about the little cliffhangers. 
> 
> There is much more to come in this story. Many hugs to all!
> 
> I hope I caught all the typos and grammatical boo-boos in this one, but I never seem to. Feel free to email me a gentle reminder/list of my errors. nurdles@jaimelovesbrienne.com


	18. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime drives home from the club after his night with Sapphire.

From the knowing smiles of the valets, Jaime could tell that he was grinning like a fool. _I just knocked noses with a beautiful woman; can you lot beat that?_ He nodded at the younger men, trying not to look smug as he got into his car and headed down the hill.

Ten minutes later, as he was speeding along the coast road, his phone rang. Tyrion’s picture lit up the in-car screen.  He turned off the music and pressed the Accept button.

“Little brother. Such timing.”

“Hardly,” Tyrion said, “I’ve been calling for over an hour. I thought you’d figured out how to turn off the JPS.”

“There’s a way to turn it off?” 

“Uh… _No_."

“Uh huh. Tysha out again?”

“Nah. She’s here. Sleeping. Just wanted to see how you're doing.” Tyrion raisied a bushy eyebrow .

“Liar. You only called because it’s a club night and you want details.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I suppose it is,” Jaime told him, concentrating on the road.

“I assume by the way you’re smiling that the night went well. Nice mask, by the way.”

“It went fine.” Jaime took off his mask and tossed it on the passenger seat.

Tyrion leaned in until his eyes and nose filled the screen. “So? Same woman? Different one?”

“Were your eyes always two different colors?” 

“No.”

“It’s quite disturbing. Aren’t you afraid of distracting me while I drive?”

Tyrion moved closer, until his forehead pressed against the screen. Then he crossed his eyes. “Better?”

“Much.” Jaime said. 

He was just passing the diner where he’d wanted Sapphire to meet him. Did she pass this way on her way home as well? He could picture her amusement the first time she saw the old ship modified to look like a squat, curved pitcher. Steam billowed from the recessed brown roof, lit against the night sky by what must have been a thousand-watt spotlight. _**Hot-Pie’s Gravy Boat**_ was picked out in neon between two rows of oval portholes. This late at night, the saucer-shaped parking lot only had a half dozen cars clustered near the dock leading to the entrance.

The diner grew smaller in his rearview mirror until, rounding the corner that would take him to the inland highway, he lost sight of it altogether.

“Jaime? Jaime!”

He’d forgotten about Tyrion, who was now sitting back from the screen with a puzzled smile on his face.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

“I haven’t seen such a dreamy look on your face since you found out Ned Stark’s Direwolf VII was going up on the auction block.”

“Dreamy?” Jaime laughed shortly. It wasn’t a description most would apply to him.

“Dreamy. Gathering Aurochs’ wool, on the Seventh Cloud… Same woman?”

“Yes.” 

“Amethyst?”

“You know damn well what she’s called.”

“Sapphire, then.” Tyrion sipped from a tumbler filled with blood-red liquid. “Shame, really. Amethyst could be shortened to ‘Amy,’ Emerald to ‘Emmy,’ but Sapphire? ‘Sapphy’ just doesn’t have any ring to it.”

“What in the seven hells is that you’re drinking?”

“This?” Tyrion held up his glass and peered into it, “Called ‘Red God’s Wroth.’ Cinnamon schnapps, pomegranate juice, and lots of R’hllor Rum®.”

“What are those things floating at the bottom?” 

“Pomegranate seeds.”

“It sounds dreadful.”

“It is. Tysha wanted to try it, heard it was a renowned aphrodisiac. Sadly, I started the evening with a lush brunette and ended with a brunette lush. She passed out before I could prove to her that _I_ never need an aphrodisiac.”

“Maybe she’s the one who needed it?”

“Ha, ha." He took a long sip on the straw, and then spat a ruby-colored seed into his palm with a grimace.  "But enough about my evening; I called to pry into yours. Obviously the first fuck went well. Sapphire’s pretty good then?”

“Is that all it’s ever about to you, Tyrion? A good fuck?”

“I rather thought that was important to you as well. Naturally, this begs the question of whether there’s such a thing as a bad fuck.”

Jaime frowned, envisioning Cersei writhing beneath him all too recently. Self-reproach made him terse, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I might.” Tyrion smiled fondly, glancing to the left where Jaime knew his bed, with Tysha in it, was. “This girl is obviously pretty special to you. So, you’re Paramours now?”

“I’m really not up for talking about this right now.”

“Turned you down again?” Tyrion looked almost sympathetic.

 _Just what I need, pity from my little brother_. 

“I’m nearly home, and I’m really tired.” Jaime said around a yawn, “I'll see you at the bank tomorrow."

“I’m sorry, Jaime. I’m here all night if you want to talk...”

“Sure. Thanks.” He reached for the disconnect button, pressing it just as Tyrion wished him _sweet dreams_.

Jaime took the off-ramp. Would he dream of Sapphire again tonight? He usually did, but there was one dream in particular that he’d had several times already. It had a few variations: time of day, the quality of light, the ebb and flow of their surroundings, changing as they will in dreams. It always started with her back to him, concentrating on some task or other. Trying not to startle her, he’d gently touch her arm or waist, and then she’d turn and smile at him.

Slowing the car as he turned into his neighborhood, Jaime felt the familiar flutter that smile always produced, remembered or in person. _Coming home_ , that was what her smile felt like. In the dream, she’d go willingly into his arms, his name on her lips. _Jaime_ she'd say, and when he said her name in return, it was something other than _Sapphire._

Jaime pulled into his driveway and turned off the Shadowcat’s engine, remaining in the driver’s seat as the interior lights faded and the engine ticked and cooled. He'd never been able to recall anything else of the dream, though he enjoyed elaborating on it when he was awake. He’d picture her sleepy bedroom eyes catching the morning light as he set down two cups of coffee before crawling back into bed with her. Or them holding hands, feet sinking in sand as they walked on the shore, the low sun sending their shadows stretching behind them. An end of the day hug, a cuddle on the couch; just the everyday pleasures of being with someone, the kind of things most people took for granted. Ofttimes his morning arousal dictated how the fantasy ended, his hand on his cock harder and more urgent than hers might’ve been, trying to finish while her presence still seemed real.

Still sitting in the dark car, Jaime absently watched the moths fluttering in his porch light, their wings and bodies backlit, indistinct. Her face was something like that in his dreams, lost in shadow where her mask normally covered it. 

Jaime sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt. The Shadowcat’s interior wasn’t especially comfortable for someone of his height, and when he got out of the low car his knees creaked. It made him feel old.

He unlocked the front door and went inside, dropping his keys in the bowl and toeing his shoes off but keeping the satchel with him. He didn’t bother turning any lights on, ascending the familiar stairs in the near darkness and walking down the dark hallway to his room, where the small lamp he always left on glowed warmly. 

Jaime dropped the satchel on the bed and collapsed on his back with a groan. After resting for a few minutes he stripped off his shirt and socks and got under the covers. A shower could wait until morning. He wanted to enjoy the subtle scent of her on his skin and beard for a while. It was a vast improvement over the week before, when he’d washed at the club and then spent the night on Tyrion’s couch, waking up to the unlovely smell of dog breath.

Shifting onto his side, Jaime lifted the flap on the satchel and pulled out his slacks. Unrolling them, he noticed that the damp spot they’d made together had dried without a trace. He smiled, remembering the way Sapphire's face had changed from desire to embarrassment with that surprising innocence that so charmed him.

 _I wish I could see the expression on her face when she notices the mark I left on her neck._ He hadn't given her the hickey intentionally, but was just possessive enough not to regret it, even though she might. 

Reaching into the pocket of the trousers, Jaime pulled out the panties he’d impulsively kept and laid them out on the bed. He traced the torn material with a fingertip, remembering how they’d looked on her. _Just about here_ , above the band of lace on her left side, he’d been able to examine her tattoo again.

This time he’d made an effort to memorize the details so that he could search for it again. Jaime didn’t know how he’d managed to concentrate on the ink at all, considering how much of the rest of her there’d been to admire while she was bound to the St. Baelor’s cross in that bodice with her long bare legs. He'd loved the little catch in her breath and the small sounds she made, but her eyes watching him, huge and changeable as the ocean, were what he remembered most of all. One second self-conscious and shy, the next trusting, and sometimes, as she gave in to him, unfocused and dark as a sunset sea. 

Bone-tired and sated, a thrill of desire still moved through Jaime. Dared he imagine he made her feel more, _want_ more than she ever had with anyone else? He knew instantly that it was a selfish thought; a sad attempt to justify how much he needed her to want him as much as he did her.

 _Hells, it all comes down to_ need _, doesn’t it_? _I gave up needing anyone a long time ago, with good reason_.

Jaime shoved the garments back into the satchel and rolled over onto his other side, suddenly regretting the sentimental impulse that had compelled him to keep something of Sapphire’s. Almost angrily, he bunched a pillow up under his head, resolutely staring at a framed painting on his wall and trying not to think of anything at all. The greens and blues of the large seascape were serene; it was the kind of art that belonged in a bedroom. 

The piece had been commissioned a few years ago by Tyrion from an up-and-coming artist in Duskendale and presented to Jaime as a housewarming gift. The painter had tremendous talent, that much was true, but despite the calm waters, the placid island, the picture always made Jaime a bit restless. There always seemed to be more to it, beneath its surface of oil and varnish. Something about the depth of the water, perhaps, or the mountainous land rising above, its secrets veiled by lush vegetation. He wondered, not for the first time, if the artist had painted it from life or if she’d created it for the canvas. 

Jaime sighed and switched off the lamp, vowing to ask Tyrion on the morrow if he knew more about the painting. He yawned and closed his eyes, snugging the covers up over his shoulders. Seconds, and then minutes, passed, but his mind wouldn’t settle enough to sleep. 

Trying not to think about Sapphire was only making him think about her more. The night was too fresh in his mind, the memory of her imprinted on his skin. 

He needed distraction. 

Without turning the light back on, he turned over and retrieved his tablet from the nightstand and launched the Whisky Lovers forum. Recent discussions included new filtration methods, condensation, and preserving labels: pros and cons. 

_Gods, how boring! What a bunch of crusty old dullards_. 

Jaime scrolled down the list half-heartedly, debated starting a new thread, but couldn’t dredge up any interest in doing so. 

_I wonder what Sapphire is doing right now? I bet she’s not wasting her time on inane web boards. Could she be awake, thinking of me_?

She should be exhausted. How many times had he made her come? Four? Five? Jaime quickly reviewed the evening. 

_Three. But she isn’t trying to hide them anymore, is she_?

Jaime hugged the pillow to his chest, happy and a bit smug. The night had been hot and sexy, that was a given, but their lovemaking? That was like nothing he’d ever known or expected. No, his feelings weren’t wrong; they did have something special.

He reached over and pulled the purloined panties from the satchel and looked at them in the light of the tablet. 

_Does she know I took them_? _Did she throw them on the bed, hoping I would_? Jaime grinned. _Probably not. But she did take the whisky note. Secretly. If it were just a meaningless souvenir she wouldn’t have looked so guilty when I found out_. 

_She can deny it all she wants; she’s into me._

Flushed with happiness and ready at last to sleep and dream, he put the underwear under his pillow and closed his eyes. One last thought struck him before he fell asleep: _She's not my Paramour yet, but I can keep asking. Maybe the club can even get a message to her if I make it a formal request._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's an incorrigible romantic, isn't he? Next chapter will be Brienne's as her weekend unfolds and her date with Hyle looms.
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to comment! It really does keep this story going more than you probably think. Thank you all for reading!


	19. Love Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has an indulgent evening alone planned for herself. 
> 
> Around 7000 words, gentle readers, all Brienne POV. Some special formatting was involved in this one, but if you're on a device that doesn't allow style sheets it should still read just fine. Let us know if it doesn't. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Friday afternoons were quiet in the lab. Most of the salaried employees had already departed for the weekend, while those few technicians who lacked a late-staying friend to punch out their timecards slouched at their stations, paying more attention to their phones than their scopes.

A composition book lay open on Brienne’s desk. Her hand moved rapidly across the page, leaving a trail of elegant-looking cursive sentences in its wake as she wrote down every thought or fact she could think of that might sway the study’s investors. What she’d told Tyrion was true; she was not good at public speaking. Presentations were her bane, and the only way to get through them was to write and edit until her ideas were clear, and then memorize the result. 

More pages turned, five o’clock came and went, and the lab emptied. Brienne felt as though her brain had emptied as well; of things to write, of ways to fill more time. With a sigh she pushed back from her desk and opened the cabinet to retrieve her purse. She slid her phone from the side pocket and flicked it on. She’d received texts from both Margaery and Hyle that needed answering. 

Margaery had written earlier in the day asking if she wanted to see a movie premiere, but she’d declined. Margaery’s reply was light and friendly:

Margaery: You’re missing out. It has that actor in it with the nice abs. How was your day?

Brienne knew her response had better sound upbeat or Marge would insist on coming over to cheer her up, and she didn't want that. 

Brienne Tarth: Everything is good. Just stayed up too late. 

She looked at the words on the screen.  Would Margaery think she’d stayed up too late being depressed about the club? She backspaced and tried again:

Brienne Tarth: Work sucked today; I was so tired after all the fun last night.

Nope. No one would think she’d write a text like that, especially not her best friend.

Brienne Tarth: I can’t stop yawning. I think I’ll go to bed early.

How would she analyze that? Text was so difficult to interpret without access to facial expressions. Brienne hesitantly typed in a semi-colon, a hyphen and a close parenthesis. 

Brienne Tarth: I can’t stop yawning. I think I’ll go to bed early. ;-)

She didn’t use emoticons often, but a little winky could imply any number of things. And why not? Her plans _were_ a little sordid: stalking her anonymous lover’s anonymous alter ego online while wearing his shirt and eating take-away. Pure decadence, and the kind of thing one needed to be alone for.  

After a moment’s hesitation she added:

Enjoy the movie. Hope there’s a full frontal in it for you. 

Brienne hit _send_ and thumbed back to Hyle’s message.

Hyle Hunt: hey babe we still going out tomorrow night I made reservations

More than three hours had passed since that one beeped in. Gods knew what Hyle had made reservations for, since he was mostly a pub snacks kinda guy. 

Brienne Tarth: What time and where are we going…? 

Caring what Hyle read into her texts simply wasn’t on her agenda. Years ago perhaps, but not now. Brienne put the phone away and took her tablet out of the desk drawer where it had stayed, taunting her, for most of the day. She’d gotten fifteen minutes with it when she ate lunch at her desk, a particularly dismal Dornish salad delivered with the wrong dressing. Saving CaskSlayer’s previous Whisky Lovers posts to read at home later, she’d brought up his profile page for the third or fifth time since first discovering it:

Viewing Profile: CaskSlayer 

Username: CaskSlayer

Location:  Somewhere between the Rock and a hard place

Title: Slayer of Casks (You’ll thank me later)

Member for: 685 days

No. of Bottles: Countless

Favorite Whiskies: Silverhill cask, Heart’s Home single malt, Corlos Estate 

Send Private Message

Send _him_ a private message? Unlikely. His next entry, a quote, both intrigued and worried her:

Quotation: Of all the bright cruel lies they tell you, the cruelest is the one called love.

It was a sentiment she didn’t necessarily disagree with, but it seemed a strangely cynical quote coming from a man who seemed so eager to pursue a relationship with her. He’d never struck her as a man nursing a grudge against love, and she had to wonder if there was a secretly bitter man lurking beneath Leo’s smiles and gallant behavior. 

Brienne was grateful to have access to _any_ information about Leo outside of the club, but his frustratingly enigmatic entries left her anxious for more. Her own profile, created when she’d first joined the site, listed only her user name, her membership information, and a quotation from her favorite author: 

_Men have scars, women mysteries_. 

The quote held more irony than truth for Brienne, a woman who definitely had scars, physical and emotional, but no mystery. Plainly put, she was dull; dedicated to her job, resigned to living her life according to her own modest expectations. She loved her home and her cat, adored her few friends and enjoyed the gentle pursuits of reading as well as the physical challenges of rowing and running. _Mystery_ conveyed a sense of passion, adventure, intrigue; all things notably missing from her make up. 

She’d been about to close Leo’s profile and put the tablet away when an icon near the bottom of the screen caught her attention. The graphic appeared to be a clump of brownish pixels, but under closer examination it proved to be a spilled tumbler of whisky that, when hovered over, promised in somber gray text to lead the viewer to a page of _ More Info_. 

How those two words made her heart race! _More info_ …dare she click it and delve deeper into Leo’s world? What if the page contained his real name? Learning such information could be considered crossing a line, one that she herself had drawn. _No sharing of personal information! No involvement outside the club!_ Brienne debated the ethics of following the link for so long that the tablet’s screen went dark. She’d put the tablet back in the drawer, deferring her decision until later. The rest of the day had been a struggle not to peek.

Now she slid the device, still dark, into her purse before powering off her computer for the weekend and locking her file cabinet. Brienne turned off her desk lamp and made one final round of the lab to make sure all was tidy and ready for Monday. Finding it so, she locked the door and began the trek through the halls that would take her to the faculty parking lot. The hum of fluorescent lights and the soft squelch of her sneakers were the only sound as she passed door after door, each with a study name or department stenciled on its window. 

In the lobby she waved to the night guard and went out the big double doors. The cement steps were slick and dark from a soaking drizzle that must have been falling for a while. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the big oak tree near the Founder’s Fountain and one of the standing lanterns that lit the pathway shone through its branches, making the heavy droplets shiver like diamonds. Pausing to enjoy the sight, Brienne let the mist wet her hair and run down the back of her neck. 

_Leo would like this_. 

Brienne smiled, imagining him standing next to her to admire the old tree. Perhaps he’d have come by to meet her after work and then they… Brienne shook her head at the errant fantasy and turned from the tree, her long strides putting distance between herself and the rush of melancholy that followed. 

The parking lot was nearly empty, but Brienne felt no fear as she approached her car. Someone would have to be a fool indeed to attack a woman built on a larger scale than many Dothraki Bully Ball players. As a teenager she’d even taken a few hand-to-hand combat classes, distinguishing herself there as the endless needlework lessons she’d endured hadn’t. 

Settling into the capacious front bench seat, Brienne shut the heavy door and turned the ignition key, the powerful purr of the engine soothing her somber mood. She started up the music player and scrolled to her Sygur Rós playlist. With a shrug, she selected the piece that she and Leo had chosen the night before. Putting her head back, Brienne let the music move through her as the first notes filled the car. Rather than the bittersweet memories she expected, the music filled her with an unexpected sort of hope. She recalled Leo gazing into her eyes as he’d made love to her and couldn’t bring herself to sully it with doubt or regret. She closed her eyes and listened to the entire song before putting the car in gear to leave the parking lot.

She was still smiling five minutes later when she parked in the lot at Narratys’ Noodles, the enticing smells of Pentosi take-away already wafting through the dashboard vents. Brienne walked through the ornate entryway of the restaurant, shaking drops of rain from her hair. She returned the chorus of welcomes from the servers cheerfully, knowing her poorly accented bastard Valyrian always made them laugh. 

“Brienne,” A small, plump woman came from behind the counter and wrapped sturdy arms around Brienne’s ribcage before stepping back and craning her neck to look up at her. “You are well, sweetling?”

“I am, Alysanna. How are you?”

“Aw, you know me; good food and good company make my happy, and I have both.” Alysanna went back behind the counter, “You will eat with us tonight?”

“I called for take away,” Brienne said, “I have work to do at home, otherwise I would.” A small lie, but one that did no harm.

“Narratys! Why you not tell me Brienne ordered?”

“I tried,” Narratys called from the kitchen, “You were too busy eating to hear me.”

“Aw, well then,” She shrugged cheerfully, “One second, let me get your order.” 

Brienne smiled fondly as the woman went through the doors to the kitchen. Alysanna and Narratys had been married many years and weathered several winters away from their homeland.  They served the best noodles and sautéed beef within twenty miles, and their prices were ruinously reasonable. It was a mystery to her how they’d managed to stay in business. 

Alysanna returned with two bags of food and set them on the counter before ringing up the total. “You look different, Brienne,” she remarked, taking the cash Brienne handed to her, “You have a new lover, might be?”

“I…what? No.” Brienne knew she’d gone red under the woman’s scrutiny. She could deny having a new lover, but as it was true she stayed silent. Good thing they hadn’t asked if she had a boyfriend, because Leo wasn’t and Hyle didn’t count.

“You have a, aw, what is that word, Brienne? A _shine_ about you. Narratys! Come see how shiny Brienne is!” A deep chuckle rumbled from the kitchen, becoming louder as Narratys came through the swinging door, wiping his hands on an acre of apron splattered with sauces and grease. He bypassed the counter and engulfed Brienne in a hug so tight she could barely breathe. 

Stepping back, the man grinned so widely she could his gold-capped molars, “I think Mama means you have a glow, little duckling. Who’s the lucky man?” Brienne shrugged, helpless to halt the smile tugging at her lips. “Also, you have a nice little love bite there.” 

“A…a love bite?” 

Alysanna came closer and reached up to pluck at the neck of Brienne’s shirt, “There now, that was some kiss, eh? And look, it gets even prettier when you blush.”

“Oh, Gods,” Brienne closed her eyes. How many people had seen the mark today and said nothing? 

“Don’t fret, sweetling. Just tell him next time to go a little lower.” Alysanna winked and her husband made a noise suspiciously like a guffaw before covering his mouth with one hand, his meaty shoulders shaking. He gave Brienne’s shoulder a light squeeze before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Brienne picked up her bags, fumbled the Valyrian words for “thank you” and turned to go, barely resisting the urge to sprint for the exit. As the door eased closed behind her she heard Alysanna’s parting words: _Bring him with you next time_!

_Sure. When King’s Landing freezes over_.

Traffic was light and Brienne was home within moments, parking the car in the garage and entering her house through the kitchen. Ignoring Grumkin’s distressed cries of starvation, she dropped her bags on the kitchen counter and went straight to the bathroom to look at the mark Leo had left on her. 

There was little to be seen above the collar of her t-shirt, and though it was bruised and red, she comforted herself that anyone else might mistake it for an insect bite. It was probable that no one had noticed it at all, and what if they had? Would anyone at work suspect that boring Dr. Tarth had a lover? Brienne grinned at her reflection, suddenly delighted by the simple proof of it.  She took her shirt off to get a better look. Completely exposed, it was obviously a hickey.  Hickeys had always struck her as ridiculously juvenile; the kind of thing teenagers gave each other to flaunt being sexually active.  

She’d been well into her nineteenth year before receiving her first kiss, much less something as physical as a love bite. It had already been well after her twenty-first name day before she had sex for the first time. Brienne frowned at herself in the mirror, recalling the night she'd lost her maidenhead. 

It had been long after the bet for her virginity during year twelve of high school, a bet she’d derailed by starting a rumor that it was already long gone. Hyle Hunt had been one of the young men who'd maliciously courted her at the time. Months later, he’d renewed his pursuit of her. Long after that, when she’d managed to forgive him, they’d gone out on a few unremarkable dates. 

Hyle still had no idea he’d won the bet, years after it was over. Studying for her degree at university, Brienne had given up hope of meeting any man she could trust enough to treat her first time with the care she’d always dreamed of.  Instead, her virginity had come to feel like a burden, and she was all too ready to be rid of it. 

She’d chosen Hyle because he seemed unlikely to realize that it was her first time, thus sparing her of the indignity of admitting to it. When she’d opened her legs for him in his dorm room that night she’d gritted her teeth stoically at the brief pain when he entered her, caused as much by the breaking of her hymen as the dry friction as he thrust into her over and over, the sparse blood from her torn flesh providing the only lubrication. Hyle had labored above her for a few scant moments, blissfully unaware that she was far from being aroused before he climaxed with far more enthusiasm than the experience seemed to warrant.  

Brienne hadn’t quite known why the sex wasn’t good. What she did know, as her silent tears dampened the dodgy pillow in Hyle’s dorm room while he snored beside her, was that sex was _disappointing_. It had been nothing like the pleasure she’d read about in books, and certainly not in line with how obsessed everyone seemed with it.  

Her indifference to a second session with Hyle had driven him to pursue her with even more fervor than he had while trying to win the bet. Flowers, chocolates, promises he didn’t intend to keep, he employed them all. Brienne was unmoved by his attempts, and eventually began dating one of his fraternity brothers; a tall, awkward lad going for his degree in physics. 

Gwayne was outwardly less experienced and confident than Hyle, but Brienne appreciated his more genuine demeanor. After burgers and chips at the university’s Green Eel Inn or a long stroll along the promenade their dates generally ended with them making out in the backseat of his car, parked on a high hill by the astronomy department’s observatory. 

Kissing and grinding against each other during the sultry evenings at the end of that summer had eventually led to exploring beneath each other’s shorts and shirts. It was the first time Brienne held a bare cock in her hand, learning quickly how to stroke it to make Gwayne moan and beg her to keep going. 

It was an especially warm night when she finally agreed to let him remove her shorts. He’d rubbed his engorged cock against her thin cotton panties, rutting between her thighs until her pulse throbbed and her breath hitched with arousal. Gwayne had come with a loud drawn-out groan before collapsing on top of her, their skin sweat-slick and his cum damp on her underwear, the heavy scent of sex filling the car.

Not more than a week later, after what seemed like hours of fevered petting, Brienne allowed Gwayne to slide her underwear off as well. He’d nervously fumbled about, poking his penis at her heated flesh until she raised her hips for him and he plunged inside, her surprised yelp going unnoticed. Already aware that Gwayne was more generously endowed than Hyle, she’d assumed her first time with him might be painful, but as they worked out how to move together that night, Brienne began to realize that sex had _possibilities_. 

After that they’d had sex enthusiastically and often until the long summer gave way to autumn. Gwayne graduated and they parted ways with no hard feelings before the leaves began to fall. Brienne’s old dorm-mate also graduated, and the start of a new semester saw Margaery Tyrell assigned to room with her. Her worldly new friend encouraged her to go out with more young men, and she did, though not many. Dating was a trial for her. She had little in common with the boys at school, and was all too aware that she wasn’t anyone’s first choice. She suspected most of them would take her no further than the bedroom if they could get away with it. Why be seen in public with homely, hulking Brienne Tarth if they didn’t have to? 

Eventually she’d given Hyle Hunt another chance, agreeing to go out with him after they ran into each other at a pub one night. He was amusing, cheerful, and even seemed to like her a bit. A couple of years had passed since that first time, and his lovemaking was marginally better than before. They were a convenient rather than a compatible couple, and still saw each other, off and on. 

Margaery had never approved of Hyle after learning how he’d botched Brienne’s first time. She’d always maintained that Brienne could do better for a man; Brienne appreciated the sentiment even if she didn’t agree with it. 

Now there really was a better man, but once the Season was done he’d be out of her life forever. Leo was everything her past partners weren’t. He was, it pained her to admit, everything she’d ever dreamed of. 

Brienne stood back from the mirror, brushing her fingers lightly across the hickey and remembering how he’d made love to her, made her come just moving inside her. No man had ever given her an orgasm before. 

Her expectations of previous partners had always seemed realistic. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the sex; she did. She quite enjoyed the sensation of it; the tantalizing tingle of nearly climaxing, that almost-sweet frustration of being just on the cusp of orgasm, like riding a trotting horse that never quite breaks into a gallop. She liked the physicality of sex, the intimacy of being touched after a childhood so barren of physical affection. Being with someone who could satisfy her and make her feel something more was the stuff of romance novels and fan fiction, not real life.  

Leo had made her come their first night together though, when she'd been fully clothed. It had been akin to what she was able to do for herself when she was alone, and had taken her completely by surprise. The next time, Leo had shaken her to the core when he’d made her writhe and cry out in ecstasy.  It had shaken her whole world, if she was being honest. Her already growing obsession with the man in the lion mask began blooming into infatuation, and not just because of her physical response to him.

Brienne turned from the mirror to walk to her bedroom, thinking how much simpler everything would be if Leo didn’t appear to be falling for her, too. Men simply didn’t fall for Brienne Tarth. Aside from her homely and now scarred face, she intimidated them. Being taller, heavier, unwilling and unable to simper and be subservient, had not made her sought after. She couldn’t smile and flirt like Margaery; such behavior fit with who she was poorly.

How could Leo possibly see past all of her flaws, and why was he trying to convince her of his affections? Maybe he knew there was no risk of them meeting outside the club, and was enjoying the safe pursuit of her affections.  Some men enjoyed that, didn’t they? Winning a woman to gratify their ego? There was no bet to compel Leo to act like he wanted her. He already had her body. Hells, did he ever have her body. But her heart? Only a very cruel man would try to win that for sport. 

_Like Ronnet Connington_ , she thought with a dark scowl. 

Brienne sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Leo’s shirt from under the pillow and spread it across her lap. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra and tossed it toward the hamper by the closet. She shrugged the shirt on, modestly fastening all but one button. It fit her surprisingly well, the sleeves falling to her wrists, the chest and shoulders snug but adequate. The expensive shirt fit Leo differently, of course, but the bitter truth was that their upper bodies were more similar than not. Another strike against her.

She had few illusions about her figure, but Leo had never given a hint that it displeased him. In fact, his admiration was disconcertingly obvious. When they were together, he actually _touched_ her, and not just a fleeting touch, either. Not a quick groping on the way to getting what he wanted, or a perfunctory caress because it was what he thought she wanted. It was an exploration, the way he read the shape of her hips and thighs with his fingers and lips, stroked the muscles of her arms and back with his hands, nuzzled and kissed and licked her breasts like they were worthy of his attention. 

Leo wasn’t playing at being interested in her sexually, she was certain of that. If he believed he was developing feelings for her beyond that it was only because he’d fallen under the spell of the club and the novelty of kinky sex with a stranger. She knew this, because it had dazzled her as well. Lust parading as love; that was all it was. Probably.

Brienne stood to take her jeans off, tossing them after the bra. Leo’s shirt and her plain white knickers might not be considered racy to anyone else, but they made her feel sexier than anything she’d yet worn to the club. 

Would Leo like her dressed like this? She doubted he’d try to keep _these_ underwear, had he the chance. But then, he might not have kept the others. He could well have binned them when she was in the loo. Even if he _had_ taken the torn pair last night, what could he do with them? Brienne knew that in places like Dorne people carried their lover’s underthings openly, taking them out to flaunt them and occasionally huff in the scent like a sachet. Leo didn’t strike her as the type to do that, in public at least. 

Just the idea that he’d spend any time with his nose in her dirty lingerie was exquisitely embarrassing. On the other hand, if he were to use them to… Brienne closed her eyes, imagining him with her green silk panties in his hand, sliding them up and down his big cock… She recalled their second session together, when she had bound him and made him jerk off in front of her. It had been incredibly sexy. Brienne sat down on her bed abruptly, her legs weak with desire. Gods, how she wanted him. Had wanted him nonstop, all day. 

Maybe later she’d indulge in a little private playtime. Right now, though, she needed to eat. She was ready for the perfect Friday night: comfort food, reading Whisky Lovers, and relaxing in Leo’s shirt, which smelled pleasantly of his sweat and cologne. Maybe the Dornish had the right idea about intimate smells after all, but it still didn’t make her want to sniff anyone’s knickers, no matter how sexy they were.

She returned to the kitchen with a sulking Grumkin close behind. She emptied a tin of food into his dish and turned to wash her hands at the sink. The cat walked nonchalantly past and sat down to stare from his dish to Brienne and back again. 

“You’re not fooling anyone, Grumpers,” Brienne took a bowl and a plate down from the cupboard, “I’m not going to feel sorry for you and share my food. I’ve barely eaten anything all day.” She took the cardboard containers out of the bags from Narratys’ Noodles, emptied the steaming pasta into the bowl and set the sticks of meat on the dish, arranging the small plastic sauce containers in a semi-circle around them. 

As she was pouring herself a generous glass of wine she saw the cat take a nibble of his food and narrow his eyes in pleasure or disdain; it was difficult to tell sometimes. She took her meal to the living room and set it on the coffee table before retrieving her tablet from her purse and setting the music player on shuffle. 

Brienne curled up in her oversized chair, balancing her dishes on the armrest with the tablet, already open to Whisky Lovers, held in one hand. Brienne took a deep breath and clicked the _More Info_ link. A page loaded with the familiar WL logo, and below that a header that read

Viewing More Information on – CaskSlayer 

The first entry, for “Real Name,” was blank. Brienne was relieved that she wouldn't have to fight the temptation to search for more information on Leo than she should be privy to. He had provided an answer to the next question:

Age: 35

Brienne nodded to herself; she'd already guessed he was in his thirties, which was older than her 26 Name Days, but not by a worrying amount. If he’d been 45, 55, even 65 or older, would she have declined his invitation to sit with him at the club that first night? Brienne tried to picture him with all white hair, and old man with a sexy grin. In bed. Waiting for her.

_Whoa girl. Rein it in_ … she didn’t even try to suppress the smile on her face. _I should be so lucky,_ she mused, scanning the next entry on the page.

Email: Request

_Well, that sure won’t be happening_!

Interests: Vintage cars, Targaryen architecture, history, surfing, the ocean

_I bet he’d love my car – dad’s car. Unless he just likes the little sporty models. I wonder if he’s a collector or if he works on them, too_? _Do rich guys work on their own cars_? Brienne doubted it. Her father had taught her and Galladon all about cars when they were growing up. She’d taken to it with enthusiasm, learning enough to take care of her own vehicles at the least. She’d never need to pay someone else to change her car’s oil. Margaery thought she was nuts.

The next entries related to CaskSlayer’s user statistics and activity on the site:

Last Visited: 18 hours ago

Number of Posts: 1379

View Member’s Posts

That was apparently a link to everything CaskSlayer had ever posted on the site. It would save her searching through every thread made since he’d joined, for which she was grateful.

Last Posted: 10 days ago 

That had to be the post where he'd quoted her about the vanilla whisky. 10 days seemed a long time for no activity, but Brienne took heart that he’d at least been on the site at the same time she was the night before. Like her, he’d come home late from the club and stayed up for a while. 

Online: N 

The ‘N’ must mean “No.” He probably had far better things to do on a Friday night than participate in a whisky forum. He could be out on a date.

_He could be out on a date_. 

Brienne was just raising a spoon overhung with noodles, but her hand shook and they dribbled back into the bowl. The thought of Leo out with another woman made her guts twist painfully. It was unrealistic to think he didn’t date the rest of the week. Even _she_ had a date for tomorrow night. Besides, if Leo was on a date with some woman after just asking Brienne out, well, then going out with Hyle was only fair.

_Try to make sense, Brienne,_ she chided herself. _First, you don’t know that Leo has a date. Second, revenge dating Hyle when Leo will never know about him makes no sense. Third, I'm not even revenge-dating Hyle in the first place_! Brienne shook her head, bemused by how illogical it all was, when the next thought stopped her cold. _How would Leo feel if he knew I was going out with Hyle after turning **him** down_?

The thought of hurting Leo made her eyes well with tears. Brienne put the now-empty spoon back into the bowl and set them on the coffee table with a clatter. Why did she feel worse about his reaction to her dating than she did about the idea of him dating? 

_And when did my life become fodder for the Lifetime Movie of the Week? Brienne Tarth, watch her tie herself up in knots over an imaginary relationship_! 

Brienne took a large mouthful of wine, letting it become bitter on her palate as she tried to work through the gaps in her sanity. She swallowed and set the glass down; it was silly to worry about Leo caring whether she slept with another man. They belonged to a sex club, for fuck’s sake.

_But he’s asked me to be his Paramour several times. To be exclusive_. 

_Exclusive within the club_ , she reminded herself. That didn’t even mean they weren’t supposed to have others join into their play. Ellaria encouraged such things. Brienne couldn’t imagine Leo being secure enough to share her; he’d said as much after Ellaria tried to get her to scene on stage.

Leo wanted her to himself.  She could give him that. Brienne knew she’d never accept another partner at the club as long as Leo wanted her. She never had to doubt he wanted her, as long as she made him keep asking her to be his paramour. Was she being manipulative in that? What if he stopped asking? The thought of him giving up on her or losing interest because of her refusals occurred to her for the first time.

_Next time, I’ll say ‘yes,’ when and if he asks_ , she decided. Brienne balanced the noodles on the chair arm again and attempted another bite while she continued looking at CaskSlayer’s More Info page. Where was she? Oh, here:

Online: Y

She was so startled by the status change that her hand shook and warm noodles cascaded from the spoon she’d just raised and onto her chest. She gaped at the tablet:

Online: Y

_Y. Yes_. He was looking at the forum, too. Brienne felt like a schoolgirl, spotting her crush at the other end of the hallway, all bashful at being in the same general…hemisphere as he. She had to remind herself that he had no clue about her being Whisky_Peat.

She was staring intently at the letter Y, wondering if Leo might post something soon, when the feel of cooling fabric against her skin reminded her that she’d just made a mess of his shirt. Brienne put her bowl down and went to the kitchen for a wet cloth. The broth had left a pale but obvious brown streak from chest to lap down one side. With a groan of frustration, Brienne blotted it with the cloth, but the stain had already set in. She’d probably need to take an expensive shirt like this to the dry cleaner. 

Giving it up as hopeless, Brienne tossed the cloth into the sink. She took a bottle of Heart’s Home single malt off the shelf and poured more than a dram or two into a crystal tumbler. If she was going to read WL, then she may as well get into the spirit of the thing. Besides, her appetite for noodles had waned after spilling them on herself.

She took the whisky to the living room and looked down at the remnants of her meal. She set the whisky down and finished her glass of wine before carrying it and her dishes to the kitchen. When she returned she settled into her chair sideways, legs hanging over an armrest. With a contented sigh, she picked up the tablet and whisky. She took a sip and woke the tablet up. And sputtered...

A Private Message window had popped up on WL while she’d been gone.  

PM: CaskSlayer: So how bad was your hangover last Saturday?

Brienne’s excited squeal startled Grumkin so badly that he cracked open an eye. Fingers trembling, Brienne typed in a response.

PM: Whisky_Peat: I might have wished I were dead for a little while. 

PM: CaskSlayer: Me too. I didn’t finish the whole bottle, than kthe gods.

PM: Whisky_Peat: I did. Drank down the entire thing.

PM: CaskSlayer: How are you still alive?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Body Mass.

She was having an actual conversation with Leo outside the club! Was she coming across gender-neutral enough? Should she be less articulate? Make a few typos? She took a long drink of her whisky; that should help.

PM: CaskSlayer: What about the salty chocolates dipped in oil? 

PM: Whisky_Peat: I threw them out. Got to have some standards. Did you finish your crisps? 

PM: CaskSlayer: Every last one of them.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Even the crumbs? 

PM: CaskSlayer: Even the outliers. There were no survivors. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: You vanquished them all, yet you survived? I dub thee CrispSlayer.

PM: CaskSlayer: No one will ever know how many lives I saved. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: Wow. Just how many bags of crisps did you eat?

PM: CaskSlayer: Just the one, but it was the leader. Their king, if you will.

Brienne laughed, delighted with their repartee. If he was interested in Westerosi history, then talk of knights and kings should be fertile ground.

PM: Whisky_Peat: The field is now clear for a new King to rise. Who or what can ever replace that noble old bag of crisps?

PM:  CaskSlayer: I heard it rumored that a bag of fried SquidRinds and a tub of Gelly Hooves are now vying for the throne.

PM:  Whisky_Peat: and how will they get along with whisky?

PM:  CaskSlayer: Poorly, now that I think about it. BRB.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Maybe Wolf Nuggets® would be better.

She wanted to hug herself, she was so happy. She was chatting with her Leo and he was charming. Well, by her admittedly odd standards, anyway. She tried picturing him. Was he sitting at a computer? Lying in bed with a tablet? Was his hair messy? Was he wearing pyjamas or maybe those sexy sweatpants? Naked? Hmmm. Just chatting with him like this was having a rousing effect on her libido. I _’m like Pavlov’s Direwolf_ , she laughed to herself, _drooling at the merest hint of him_.

CaskSlayer had typed **BRB** , an acronym that meant he’d Be Right Back. Brienne hoped that meant he planned to continue their conversation, rather than using BRB as an inoffensively vague way to end the messaging. She reread their conversation while she waited hopefully for him to answer. 

Ten minutes passed. Brienne sipped the whisky and tried to be satisfied that they’d communicated at all. She could just go ahead and read his old posts, which was all she’d expected to do tonight anyway. A low chime heralded his return and saved her from disappointment. 

PM: CaskSlayer: Sorry - had to get my dinner out of the microwave. Wolf Nuggets? Can’t say I’ve heard of them. They’re not…?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Balls?

PM: CaskSlayer: Yeah.

PM: Whisky_Peat: No.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Maybe.

PM: Whisky_Peat: 20 percent, tops. 

As she waited for a response she worried she might have been too crude. Maybe all the ball talk made him uneasy? After all, he probably believed that Whisky_Peat was a man. Did men talk about balls amongst themselves? Or rather, joke about them?

PM: CaskSlayer: Good. At least one contender for the crown has some balls.

PM: Whisky_Peat: They can call it the War of Three Snack Foods. 

PM: CaskSlayer: How will the winner be determined?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Someone would have to pair them with whisky. You game?

PM: CaskSlayer: *My* tastebuds have suffered enough, but I have an idea.

PM: Whisky_Peat: ?

This time she waited even longer for CaskSlayer’s response. Brienne finished her whisky and went to the kitchen, brought back the bottle and refilled her glass. She took a swallow, enjoying the pleasant warmth spreading through her that the whisky only got partial credit for. 

PM: CaskSlayer: I added Silly Stags to the list. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: List? The War of *Four* Snack Foods?

CaskSlayer pasted a link and Brienne followed it to a new post. 

**CaskSlayer: There’s been a good deal of discussion lately about unusual food pairings with whisky. I myself tried a crisps pairing a while back and was quite surprised. Now, I’ve also heard it bandied about that SquidRinds, Wolf Nuggets, Gelly Hooves, and Silly Stags' Salty Snacks create a similarly complex flavor profile. Maybe some of you would be interested in conducting taste tests and comparing notes?**

Brienne chuckled; she could just see that naughty look in Leo’s eye that always gave her moths in the belly. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: Think anyone will bite?

PM: CaskSlayer: I hope so. Do you remember that big discussion a while back about swirling the whisky clockwise and then counter-clockwise to open up the flavors?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Yes. It was absurd.

PM: CaskSlayer: I started that.

Brienne chuckled, remembering how ridiculously heated the argument had gotten on the board. Did men type any acronyms to indicate laughing? Did they just, downplay amusement? This was harder than Brienne had anticipated; she’d been mistaken for a man more than once in her life, but not sight unseen. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: Really?

PM:  CaskSlayer: Much whisky was spilled that day. For which I am heartily sorry.

PM: Whisky_Peat: It’s always the innocents who suffer.

PM: CaskSlayer: LOL

PM: CaskSlayer: BTW, Did you see the Winterfell distillers are going to be hosting a live webinar tomorrow night? They’re going to address those rumors about the Bolton corporation attempting a hostile takeover. I wonder which of the principals will be handling questions? 

PM: Whisky_Peat: That sounds interesting, but I have a date tomorrow. Maybe I’ll read about it later. Are you planning to watch?

PM: CaskSlayer: A date, huh? Is this with the person you drank that whole bottle because of?

PM: Whisky_Peat: No, not that lucky. This one has threatened to bring the whisky and I’m frankly dreading what they pick out.

PM: CaskSlayer: I guess you should be glad she’s trying, but I don’t envy you that.

How to answer? Hiding her gender on Whisky Lovers was one thing, but lying about it was another. Brienne chose a sin of omission instead.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Not much to envy, really.

PM: CaskSlayer: Then why go?

Why indeed? Brienne spent so long struggling for a response that Leo must have felt the need to soften his observation.

PM: CaskSlayer: Sorry. Not my place to say anything. 

But he was right. All her reasons for going out with Hyle didn’t amount to much, did they? She’d take an anonymous discussion with Leo over doing anything with Hyle, but she couldn’t live her life mooning after someone who could only know her as a fellow online Whisky Lover. With a lump in her throat, Brienne typed her response **.**

PM: Whisky_Peat: No problem. We can’t live our lives hoping for something that can never be. 

PM: CaskSlayer: I suppose. Anyway, I have to get going. Nice talking to you.

With the sinking feeling that she’d gotten too emotional in a manly chat, Brienne wished CaskSlayer a good evening and signed off. She took a large swallow of whisky and felt the burn of it going down her throat. It matched the stinging in her eyes as she tried not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to issue a blanket apology for the long delay. Thank you to everyone that has stuck with us, and welcome to those just discovering the fic. To those who have commented, please know that you are one of the most important elements of this story. A couple of recent comments have gone unanswered, but they were *very* much appreciated and will be responded to. Thank you also to those leaving kudos! When an author starts to wonder if anyone out there is still sticking with the story it feels really good to get a kudo or comment out of the blue. It's never a bad time to show you read and/or enjoyed a fic. :-) 
> 
> Next chapter is the date with Hyle, and then we'll get back to the club for an extra steamy reunion between Jaime and Brienne.


	20. Chowder and Cheesy Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's date with Hyle Hunt, among other things.
> 
> Over 12,000 words. You have been warned. About oh so many things.

“Well, how about this one then?” Brienne held up a blouse and Margaery shook her head. “I thought you said you were coming over to help,” Brienne hung the shirt back in the closet “but so far you’ve rejected everything I’ve shown you.” She presented a grey flannel pullover with prancing pink ponies on it. “Do you like this one?”

“Oh, now I like that,” Margaery held out a hand and Brienne took the shirt off its hanger and tossed it to her where she sat on the bed with Grumkin curled in her lap. She held the garment up and examined it closely, “Yes. Wear this. Do you still have those baggy paisley leggings?”

“The pink and green ones?”

“Yes.”

“Now I know you’re just messing with me.”

“They’ll pick up the color in the ponies. It’s very coordinated.”

“Did you not tell me once that I looked like a Dothraki circus performer in those pants?”

“I said you looked like the _ring master_ at the Dothraki circus. They’re highly esteemed in their culture and make loads of money.”  
  
“And the part where you said it looked like I had taken a dump in my drawers?”

Margaery chuckled, “Did I say that? It’s only that they hang so loose around your arse.”

“And you want me to wear those out with Hyle.”

“He’s taking you out to an all-you-can-eat buffet. You’ll fit right in.” Margaery’s smirk was abruptly replaced by an expression of revulsion. “Gods, what in hell _is_ that?” 

“What?”

She pinched her nose, “Dat abful smell! Has subting died in here recently?”

“Oh, I smell it now. Yuck. Grumkin, you foul feline!”

Margaery fanned the air with her hand, “That was you?” she demanded, and the cat looked up at her lovingly.

“I’m so sorry. I tried a new cat food and he’s been a bit…gassy.”

Margaery lifted Grumkin off her lap and got off the bed to stand over by the closet. “Delightful. But as I was trying to say, Brie, I just don’t think you should put so much effort into looking good for Hyle Hunt.” 

“I can just wear my new jeans, even though they’re kind of snug. This place can’t be all that fancy.”

“The jeans you showed me when I first got here? Those make your butt look fantastic. He doesn’t deserve to be seen with you in those.”

“The tight jeans it is.”

“No! I mean, maybe a plain skirt? Do you have anything knee length? Maybe in a nice puce?”

“I intend to look presentable, Margaery. I would appreciate it if you’d respect my decision to go out with him.” Brienne pulled the shirt out from under Grumkin, who'd claimed it as a suitable substitute for Margaery’s lap. “So, the jeans, and maybe the blue blouse with the round collar?” She hung the pony shirt back in the closet.

“The round collar? If you insist on dressing up will you at least wear something with a neckline that shows off that hickey? Your black silk one is nice.”

“What? Why?” Brienne swept a finger across the mark, finding the slight tenderness of her skin more gratifying than she should.

“So he knows you’re taken.”

“I am not taken.”

“So you’re available?”

“This is Hyle we’re talking about. It’s just a date. You think he’s going to suddenly fall to his knees and ask me to go steady?”

“No, but Leo –“

“Isn’t here.” Brienne finished for her. “And my going out with Hyle is no more of a commitment than meeting with Leo at the club is.”

“Leo may not have gotten down on his knees to ask, but he did ask.”

“To be his sex partner for the next nine weeks. Maybe I’ll even say ‘yes’ next time.”

“Not a very romantic way to put it, but you really should. _Before_ it’s too late.” 

“You’re such a drama queen.” Brienne scoffed, handing a small jewelry box to her friend, “Pick out some earrings for me, will you?”

“I am _the_ Drama Queen, and don’t you forget it.” Marge took the box and opened it, stirring the contents with one finger, “Anyway, I’m right about this. I overheard some of the other women talking about Leo last week while you were mysteriously delayed in the stairwell.”

“So?”

“They want a shot at him, too, Brienne. One of them was saying that if you’re not official Paramours by now that he’s fair game.”

“But…but we already agreed to be together next week,” Brienne hated the quaver in her voice.

“And I’m sure he wants to be together next week, sweetling. But consider: you’ve turned him down at least twice, and even if you’re together this  Thursday he is still free to partner with anyone else he wants to after that.”

“Well, if he wants someone else, I won’t be the one to stop him.” Brienne sat down heavily on the bed. Margaery nudged Grumkin aside and sat down next to her.

“He doesn’t want someone else, Brie, I’m sure of that. But some of these women can be very aggressive, and his ego is probably already bruised by your refusals. If one or more of them get him alone they could convince him that you want to try out other men in the club, and that he owes it to you to give you that chance. Dog would be the first in line for you, and Leo knows it.”

“Dog? He knows I’d never –”

“Does he? He’s seen Dog in action. Unless he’s equally well-endowed you can be sure he feels inadequate. I know Bookworm did.”

“There’s no reason for him to feel that way! I told him I wasn’t interested in Dog.”

“Is he as big as Dog?”

“ _No_! I mean, he’s…” Brienne blushed; she’d never shared any intimate details about Leo’s anatomy with her friend. She took a deep breath, “He’s nice, okay?”

“Nice?” Margaery lifted an eyebrow.

“For fuck’s sake, Margaery! He has a nice cock, okay? It’s no Hodor, but he’s got nothing to be worried about.”

“He’s small then?”

“No, you horrible tease. He’s big, alright? Gods.” Brienne flopped over and buried her face in a pillow and said something unintelligible through the layers of Stark Swan feathers.

“He ‘throws cows to juice it’?”

Brienne hit Margaery squarely in the face with the pillow. “He ‘knows how to use it!’ Ugh!”

Margaery laughed and flung the pillow back. “Then why bother with Hyle?”

“I just don’t know! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Not really. I was hoping you would tell me something that made sense.”

“He’s real, okay? I don’t want to get addicted to a fantasy.”

“So Hyle represents some sort of aversion therapy?”

Brienne sat up and glared, “Hyle is not that bad. He’s funny, and he’s familiar. Anyway, he’ll be here in a little more than an hour. I still need to do my make-up; you can help or you can leave.”

“Wait – is he picking you up? I thought you swore never to ride with him again.”

“He’s meeting me here, and then I’ll drive.” Brienne went into the bathroom to retrieve her make-up case. 

“Why not just pick him up at his place?” Margaery called.

Brienne walked back in with a miniature chest adorned in gold filigree and sapphire chips. “Because we’ll probably spend the night together and I’ve seen his place. I don’t think he’s changed his sheets since last Winter, and last I heard he had an unsavory new roommate.” She handed Marge the box and sat on the bed cross-legged. 

“What’s a grown man doing with a roommate?” She opened the latch on the chest, “I’ve always loved this thing. What did your mother keep in here?”

“Heirlooms. Mostly jewelry. I’ve got it all in a safe deposit box now. Hyle only has a roommate to help pay the bills. Apparently being a Hedge Contractor doesn’t pay very well.”

“Well, I can certainly see why you’d choose him over Leo,” Margaery said drily, holding up a dark blue eyeliner.

“I’m not choosing him. This isn’t an either-or decision.” She took the pencil from Margaery and looked at it critically, “Do you think this needs sharpening? No?” She picked up a magnifying mirror and looked into it, drawing a faint line above her lashes. 

“Here, let me.” Margaery held out her hand, “If you’re going to do this let’s do it right. Your eyes always look so gorgeous at the Sand. Let’s really do them up for tonight.”

“I thought you wanted me to look drab for Hyle?”

“I want that asshole to see what he’s missing when you finally kick him to the curb.”

Brienne laughed and handed over the pencil, leaning forward for Margaery’s ministrations.

“Now tell me what kind of lingerie you’re going to wear. I think your breathable cotton knickers would be perfect. I don’t suppose you own any of those high-waisted granny panties?”

***

After Margaery left, Brienne still had a few minutes to herself. She plopped down in her chair to check the Whisky Lover’s board for new posts from CaskSlayer. Finding none, she reread their conversation from the night before. She was hoping she’d get the chance to chat with him again before Thursday and replying to his post about snack food pairings seemed the surest way of drawing him out. She looked at his entry again: 

**CaskSlayer: There’s been a good deal of discussion lately about unusual food pairings with whisky. I myself tried a crisps pairing a while back and was quite surprised. Now, I’ve also heard it bandied about that SquidRinds, Wolf Nuggets, Gelly Hooves, and Silly Stags' Salty Snacks create a similarly complex flavor profile. Maybe some of you would be interested in conducting taste tests and comparing notes?**

Brienne thought for a moment, and then laughed as she brought up her keyboard to reply:

**Whisky_Peat: What an intriguing concept, CaskSlayer. Lacking any of the aforementioned items in my pantry, I was fortunate enough to find an unopened bag of Cheesy Bears hiding on a bottom shelf. My tasting notes follow:**

**As you may know, Cheesy Bears come in a variety of flavors. Happily, my bag was not of the sea salt and vinegar type which, IMO, is simply a crime against nature. It was, rather, their Cheesy-Herb style and I decided to pair it, appropriately enough, with a single malt from the Bear Island distillery, one of their younger bottlings, as was appropriate for the youth-profile of my snack food.**

**To begin with, I opened both the whisky and the Bears to let them breathe for a few moments. When I judged them ready, I held the bag to my face and inhaled the cheesy goodness deep into my sinuses, detecting not only the sharp dairy notes, but the herbs as well. I quickly gave my whisky a clockwise and then counter-clockwise swirl to open up the alcohol and let the ursine notes waft freely up my nose. Before the dual scents could dissipate, I popped several Cheesy Bears into my mouth and chewed, allowing the oily residue to coat my palate before taking a generous sip of the spirit.**

**True to the wisdom of our most revered whisky and food pairing experts, the coating of fat was able to absorb and open up the flavours in the whisky, creating a marriage of woodsy peat and rosemary with highlights of aged cheese that far exceeded the formerly one-note taste of a standard Cheesy Bear, and elevated an otherwise run-of-the-forest offering from Bear Island into something I would happily serve at a party or on date night.**

**I look forward to reading of other’s experiences with these pairings. Yours in Spirits, - Whisky Peat.**

There, that seemed stuffy and academic enough. Brienne smiled, imagining Leo’s grin when he read her completely fabricated notes. At the least she hoped he would reply to her comment, though a Private Message from him was what she most wanted. 

Hyle Hunt was twenty minutes late when she saw him pull his red Arakh Coupe into the driveway. Brienne stood back from the window and watched him walk up to her porch, a brown bottle in one hand. There was something off about his pants, but she couldn’t place what it was until she opened the door and saw that they were snug, black, and leather. 

“Hey Babe,” Hyle greeted her. He rose up on his toes and Brienne bent her knees slightly to meet his kiss.  “Mmm. I’ve missed you.” He grinned up at her, “Am I wearing your lipstick now?”

“A bit,” Brienne smiled, “but it suits you.”

Hyle rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth to remove the trace of bright red. “It suits you better. Your eyes look very pretty tonight.”

“Thank you.” Brienne said, opening the door wider. “Come in while I get my purse from the bedroom.” 

Hyle walked into the living room, “Yo, cat. Miss me?” Grumkin hissed, leapt off the back of the chair and stalked out of the room. “That cat is so jealous of me.” Hyle laughed.  Brienne followed the cat out, wondering if Grumkin would dislike Leo or if he simply didn’t care for Hyle. “Your bum looks hot in those jeans,” Hyle called out as he sat down in a chair. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m taking you to Ironborn’s for All-You-Can-Plunder seafood.”

Brienne slung the strap of her small evening bag over her shoulder, checked her make-up in the mirror and walked back into the living room. Hyle held out the bottle he’d carried in and raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ll take it.” She said. Hyle handed her the bottle and followed her into the kitchen, where she set it on the counter. _Old Raven’s Sweet, Sweet Corn Whisky_ she read on the label. A cartoon Raven perched on an ear of corn and, holding one wing out with the feathers worked into a thumbs-up, beckoned the consumer to enjoy the Official Whisky of the Westerosi Postal Workers Union. 

“Looks good, right? The guy at the store said it was sweet enough to drink straight.”

“Isn’t that something?” Brienne mused, ushering him out the door to her car, parked and waiting in the drive. 

“I figured we can have some when we come back here later.” Hyle opened the passenger door and positioned himself in the middle of the bench seat, picking up her in-car music player to thumb through her playlists. “You still listening to Sygur Rós?  Honestly, that stuff sounds like something old people’d fuck to.”

“You think so?” Brienne said mildly, “Fasten your seatbelt, please.”

Hyle made a show of fumbling about for the belt, finally clicking it into place and tightening the strap with a flourish. Brienne started the car and backed out of the drive. 

“You mind if I download some music? Something a little _perkier_?”

“Actually, I do. We’ve never had the same taste in music.”

“I can just sing, then,” Hyle offered, clearing his throat and mimicking the opening guitar chords of the latest hit by teen sensation Roslin before wailing, “Baby, baby, baby, don’t you leave…”

“Okay, okay,” Brienne surrendered, “Download something. Anything but _that_.” Hyle’s laughter filled the car at her expression and he picked up the player to choose new songs. Resigned, Brienne attempted to change the subject. “I hope I’m not under-dressed. Is tonight’s dress code specifically leather-centric?”

“Leather centered?” 

“Your pants. Is one supposed to wear leather to this restaurant?” She was rather embarrassed for Hyle; the pants did little for his stocky frame and their high waist was about ten years out of fashion. 

“Oh, these.” Hyle ran his hands up and down his thighs, producing a faint noise much like the squeak of a window washing squeegee. “You like them? I got them on EssosBay. Pretty sexy, huh?” 

“They look nice.” Brienne said, hoping she sounded sincere. “Why leather all of a sudden?” 

“Just thought I’d spice things up, maybe dress up some for you. Oh, hey! You’ve _got_ to like this one.” Hyle tapped the buy button on the player and waited for the song he’d chosen to download. “Vaes Jini. It’s a wimpier version of Razorgrass, but you’re going to _love_ the lute solo. The dude just fucking shreds that thing.” He tapped **play** and the emo overtones of lead singer Yinishar wailed forth, followed by the discordant twanging of an abused lute.

Brienne raised her voice over the music, “Did you know that Vaes Jini means City of Goats?” 

“No kidding?” Hyle said, bobbing his head to the music and looking for another song to buy, “That would explain why they always butt heads in concert. They’ve been known to knock each other out on stage. Their fans do it, too. A Vaes Jini concert is considered a dull affair without at least three skull fractures.”

“Have you ever been to one of their concerts?”

“Me? Nah. I’m getting a little old to be banging heads with the kids these days. Can’t afford to miss work for a cracked head.”

“You’re thirtieth name day is coming up isn’t it?” 

“Yup, I’ll be an old man soon. At least I still have my hair.” Hyle ran his hand through his wavy brown locks. “I’m thinking of letting my eyebrows grow out though; they’ll make a great comb-over if I ever go bald.”

Brienne chuckled and Hyle smiled at her, pleased. He was no Leo, but his company was not entirely unpleasant. Maybe she was right to go out with him after all. “We’re pretty close now, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah! Take a left by that Frozen Shores’ petrol station there,” Hyle told her, “The parking lot is on the left. This place gets pretty popular on Saturday nights. I hope we don’t have to park down the street.”

Brienne entered a parking lot covered in cracks and the opportunistic weeds growing between them. She drove through the rows of cars and trucks until she found a space large enough for her vehicle between a motorcycle and a late-model sedan with an anti-theft device secured to the steering wheel. 

Hyle paused to admire the bike when he got out, “That is one sweet ride,” he whistled, “How’d you like to ride on that down the coast road?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You scared of two wheelers too, sweetling? You really need to get over this fear thing you’ve developed. That accident was a long time ago.” He crooked an elbow for her and smiled. “Shall we?”

Brienne put her hand on his arm and let him lead her to the front of a large red building with a peaked entryway that was formed of a roughly carved squid, its wavy, hugely suckered tentacles dropping down to frame the doorway. The whole thing was covered in badly flaking gold paint. The mingled odors of fried food and sugary desserts reached them even from the walkway in front. 

Hyle opened the door for Brienne and the smells strengthened as they stepped into a sea-themed restaurant. The host counter was framed in heavy dark wood, and doubled as a saltwater aquarium with pink-painted coral, plastic seaweed, and a bunch of embarrassed-looking fish. 

A carved sign behind the counter read: 

**IRONBORN’S**  
**All You Can Plunder**

Another, smaller sign near the register stated:  
  
_Iron Price for Pirates Only_  
_All Others Pay Gold Price_.

A weathered-looking man dressed as a cabin boy hurried over to them. “Welcome to Ironborn’s. Do you have reservations?” 

“Yes. Two for Hunt.” Hyle took out his wallet and paid the man in cash for the buffet and All-You-Can-Plunder soft drinks. 

The host gestured to a server in the dining room, who kicked out her heel and glided over to them on shoes with half-hidden wheels. Her progress was slow, hindered as it was by a tight spandex skirt that came to her ankles before opening out to a glittery fish fin that curled up behind her. The skirt’s painted scales were iridescent with greens, blues and flashes of red, while soft-sculpture shells supported her large breasts. 

The woman collected two coasters, a drink menu, and the receipt from the host and smiled joylessly at Hyle and Brienne. “Swim this way,” she said without inflection and turned to lead them, making odd fluttery motions with her arms that Brienne guessed were intended to simulate swimming. 

“I love this place,” Hyle said over the din of conversation and the background music; an orchestral medley of old sea shanties. “When I was a kid they had an All You Can Pillage Village where they let you spear your own fish.”

The mermaid waitress plopped the coasters down on the table and waited for Brienne and Hyle to seat themselves. “Grog for you mateys?” She held out the drink menu and Brienne took it, trying not to stare at the elaborate stage make-up surrounding the waitress’ weary hazel eyes.  
  
“Rum and Qorgyle Qola for me,” Hyle told her, “And keep ‘em coming.”

“One Sail to the Wind or two?”

“Oh, let’s make it a double, definitely,” Hyle grinned up at her.

Brienne looked up from the menu. “I can’t decide,” she told the waitress, “What do you recommend?”

“Our specialty is Akvavit, but it’s quite strong.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

The waitress gave her a slight smile and a rehearsed spiel, “Akvavit is the favored spirit of the seagoing folk of the Iron Islands. It is distilled from potatoes, and then redistilled with spices and other flavourings and stored aboard ships hailing from Ironman’s Bay for a two year journey to the Shivering Sea and back. We serve it ice cold, like the waters of the far north.”

“That sounds interesting. I’d like to try that.”

“Aye. You might want to start with just a shot. There’s lots that can’t handle it. It’s said to be so potent it'll put steel in a man’s harpoon.”

“And what does it do for women?” Hyle asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Without a beat, the waitress answered, “I imagine it makes the man’s harpoon seem more appealing.”

Hyle grinned at Brienne. “Well in that case, makes hers a double.” 

 “I’d just like a four ounce pour, please.” Brienne handed the menu back to the waitress and smiled at Hyle, “I wouldn’t want to do anything too outrageous.”

The waitress wrote something on her order pad. “The Akvavit is sometimes paired with a pale ale. Would you like to try them together?” 

Brienne thought about it. “Yes. I’ll try that. Thank you.”

“Your drinks’ll be right out. Tonight’s special is the Drowned God Cod, fresh caught and available at station six. Help yourselves to the buffet; the plates are along the sides.” she gestured to rows of dull white platters stacked in silver cylinders. “Water, coffee and qola are at the far side there. Go back as many times as you like, but always use a fresh plate, please. I’m Nixie if you need anything.” 

Brienne thanked her and they watched as she skate-glided away to a bar draped in fishing nets covered with sea stars and fairy lights.  
  
Hyle leaned forward and covered Brienne’s hand with his own, “I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight. You hardly ever call me back anymore. I guess you’re pretty busy at the lab these days.” 

“The lab can be quite hectic,” Brienne said, hoping he’d leave it at that. She’d barely even thought of him since meeting Leo. “I’m sorry for not calling you back. You know I’m not much of a talker.”

“Lucky for us that I am, then.” Hyle stood up and offered her his hand, “And we get along just fine without words too, right?” His smile was humorously suggestive. Brienne put her hand in his and stood, but took it back almost immediately to fidget with her collar. 

Hyle put his hand on her lower back as they walked to the steam tables. The intimacy of it was familiar, yet strange. Had Leo already claimed her affections so strongly that another man’s touch should feel so unnatural to her? She tried to relax.

They picked up plates and Brienne gazed around at the food stations, reading the weathered planks suspended from the low ceiling: Yo-Ho-Hot and Cold Fish, Crabby Legs, Landlubber’s Larder (‘burgers, fries and pizza’), Herring Heaven, Scallywags Salad Bar, Mutineer’s Meatball Bar…

“They’re famous for their Meatball Bar.” Hyle told her, “But I’m going to go get some pickled herring before it's been all picked over.”

“Well, if they're famous for meatballs I’ll try them first,” Brienne said, “I'll see you back at the table.”

Whether or not they were truly famous, she had to admit that the meatball station was impressive. Pyramids of formed food of varying colors and ingredients were arrayed before her with little engraved labels identifying each tray. “Meat” appeared to be optional, as some of the spherical offerings were molded vegetables or gelatins with things suspended in them. She scooped a couple of salmon balls and a baked potato ball onto her dish and made the rounds of the other stations, filling her plate with small samples of the more palatable looking options. 

Back at the table she found Hyle already seated and tucking into a plate laden with fish, beets, and several shriveled-looking sausages swimming in gravy. He stabbed one of the sausages with his fork and held it out as she seated herself.

“You have to try one of these,” he said around a mouthful of fried kipper, “Greyjoy Sausages. Yum!”

Brienne leaned away from the quivering grayish object. “What is it made of?”

Hyle swallowed, “It’s a secret recipe. I hear they’re aged at sea in wooden boxes though; makes ‘em extra tender.”

“Thank you, but no.” Brienne demurred, picking up the frosty glass of Akvavit the waitress had left and taking a sip. The liquor was very strong, with anise and caraway seed giving it an odd black-licorice taste. Brienne took a drink of ale from a metal tankard to wash it down. The beer tasted of bitter grapefruit to her, but it did soothe the burn left behind by the Akvavit.  “That was…intriguing. Would you like to try it?” She pushed the liquor forward with one finger.

“Will I like it?” Hyle asked, picking it up to sniff suspiciously. 

“Probably not.” Brienne admitted, holding out her hand to take the glass back.

“Oh, no you don't,” Hyle smiled and saluted her with the glass before tipping some of the amber liquid into his mouth. Tears sprang to his dark brown eyes and he clamped his mouth closed, trying not to cough. He nodded vigorously and reached for the ale, nearly draining it to soothe his offended throat. He set the tankard down with a thump.

“By the gods, I can feel the steel in my harpoon already!” he gasped.

Brienne laughed and pushed the ale back to his side, “Go ahead and finish this. Beer isn’t really my thing.”

“Gladly,” Hyle said. His rum and qola was already nothing more than a watery brown puddle in a glass still nearly full with ice. “I’m glad you came out with me tonight, Brienne. We always have a really good time together, don’t we?”

“Of course we do.” Brienne didn’t look up from the pinkish sphere she was cutting in half with her knife.

“I mean, we have a long history. I think you may be one of my oldest friends.”

“I know of a couple who are at least as old as you.” _Where’s he going with this_? 

“You know what I mean, Brie. We just - we’re compatible, you know what I’m saying?”

Brienne tried to smile around the salmon she was chewing. Hyle was giving her a look. Sincere. Searching. _Is he serious_? She took a too-large sip of the Akvavit and stifled a cough as it assaulted her throat. “Sure, we’re compatible like –” she gasped, the liquor making new inroads of pain as it went down. She coughed violently and grabbed a napkin to cover her mouth until the spasm passed. She tried again. “Like our taste in –” _hack hack_ “music.”

“Are you alright?” Hyle waited for her nod before continuing. “I mean compatible in _basic_ things, like, um…” As he searched for something basic they had in common, the waitress glided up with a fresh drink for Hyle, swapping it efficiently with his finished one. 

“Are we running a tab, mateys?” She asked.

“Yes, we’ll settle up at the end.” Hyle said, his eyes not rising above the server’s chest. “Thanks, sweetling.”

“How’s that Akvavit, dear?” It was obvious from her resigned look that she was accustomed to men not looking her in the eye. 

“Interesting. I’m not certain I’d order it again, though.”

“Not many do, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?”

“No, I’ll finish this. Thank you, Nixie.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget to visit our Desserted Island and Shiver-Me-Timbers ice cream bar.”  The waitress seemed about to skate away when she reached out and deftly adjusted Brienne’s collar, whispering “There. Looks like you were trying to keep that covered, hon.” She patted Brienne kindly on the shoulder and left.

“What was that she was covering?” Hyle asked.

“It was nothing. A blemish.” Brienne knew her blus was giving her away as she tried to cover the mark on her neck.

Hyle chuckled. “Did she think you had a hickey? I bet you’ve never had one in your life.”

Brienne shrugged, annoyance quickly overcoming embarrassment. “I think I’m going to get some Calamity Clam Chowder.” She started to get up.

“Maybe I’ll give you a real hickey later.” Hyle said, giving her a wink. 

Brienne stood, towering over him. “You certainly will not. It’s just…just fucking juvenile.” Hyle smirked and pursed his lips, making little kissy noises up at her. “No.” she repeated firmly and retreated to the soup bar. 

She didn’t actually want soup, having previously noticed that the crusted rims of the soup canisters looked pretty dodgy. What the hell was Hyle up to? Compatible? Giving her the big soulful eyes? Brienne scooped some of the lumpy yellowish liquid into a bowl shaped like a rowboat. _So help me, if he gives me a hickey…what if Leo were to see it_? Her stomach lurched at the thought. She knew she’d be devastated if Leo came to the club marked by another woman. 

Yet, wasn't she out with Hyle because she needed to prove to herself that what happened in the club didn't affect real life? And, conversely, that what happened between Thursdays had nothing to do with Leo or whatever feelings she might, or might not, have for him? She'd joined a sex club for twelve weeks. Twelve nights, really. She should be able to keep them compartmentalized.

With a sigh, she put a soup spoon in her bowl and headed back to the table, determined to give her date a chance. Hyle was smiling as she approached, so she smiled back, hoping he'd drop the subject of her hickey. 

“There you are. I thought maybe you fell into the chowder vat.”

“Almost,” Brienne set her bowl down and drank some Akvavit. “I had a bit of a wrestle with the lobster in the bisque. He tried to pull me in.”

Hyle laughed harder than her quip seemed to warrant. “I don't blame him; you look really sexy tonight.” He reached out to lay his hand over hers again, “I've been so looking forward to seeing you again.”

Brienne took a sip of her drink, unsure of how to respond. “Thank you,” was all she managed to come up with. 

“I've been thinking about you a lot,” Hyle went on as Brienne tried  to look curious rather than alarmed. “I know I've sometimes taken our friendship for granted over the years. Hells, there was even a time when you'd have been justified in never speaking to me again.”

“Or in knocking you out cold.”  Brienne pointed out.

“Like Will the Stork,” Hyle chuckled. “He learned his lesson, didn't he?” Brienne nodded, unsmiling, and Hyle cleared his throat nervously. “The thing is, Brie, it was a stupid bet, and I'm sorry I participated. But in a way, I'm sorry I didn't win.”

“What?” Brienne couldn't fathom where he was going, but he was treading on dangerous ground.

“I mean, I know you'd already…that is, I wouldn't have been your _first_ , but maybe  it wouldn't have taken so long for us to get to know each other if I’d been able to take you to bed back then.  Maybe you'd have learned that you could trust me sooner than you did.”

“I'm not certain I could ever completely trust someone who would participate in such horrible bet.”

“Ever? Not even me?” Hyle rushed on, “I’d hate to think you don’t trust me after all this time, because I’ve really come to care about you, Brienne.”

“I like you, too, Hyle.” Brienne stirred her soup, not looking up at him. She’d never known Hyle to be so serious. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I? I’m going to go get some more food, give you a minute to yourself.” Hyle got up and stood next to her chair until she looked up. Before Brienne knew what he was about, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips, “Think about what I’ve said, alright?”

Brienne had her back to the buffet and didn’t turn to watch him go. What had he said that needed thinking about? Why was he suddenly so eager to talk about their relationship? _Maybe he’s just had too much to drink_ , Brienne told herself. His second Rum and Qola was nearly empty. Brienne saw the waitress coming with a fresh one and wondered how many Hyle was going to down before they finished eating. He tended to be a cheerful drunk; she’d seen it enough times to know that. Happy Hyle she could deal with, even horny Hyle was tolerable, but heartfelt? Not so much.

Hoping to delay any further discussion about his feelings for her, Brienne pushed her soup away and got up to check out the dessert bar. As she was leaving, the waitress set down Hyle’s fresh drink, scooped up his old one and her cold chowder and skated away again.

At the dessert bar she was met with treasure island-type theming and the cheering prospect of chocolate and cheesecake. At least she would be fortified with sweets to deal with whatever Hyle was so clumsily trying to say. She loaded her plate with miniature desserts and returned to the table. 

Hyle was there sucking the meat out of a crab leg, a gleaming crab cracker clutched in one hand. There were few elegant ways to eat crab, and Hyle was familiar with none of them. He set down the cracker and picked up a seafood fork, inserting one tine in the dangling leg bone and trying to pry it open. He looked up and gave Brienne a wry smile as he gave the fork a dramatic twist. The fork bent like a reed before flicking juice and bits of meat into the air. Hyle laughed loudly as a stringy piece landed next to his Rum and Qola. 

“Almost made it in!” he crowed, picking up the stringy projectile and popping it in his mouth. He grinned at Brienne, brine and butter shining on his lips. “I think I just invented a new drinking game.” He picked up his glass and drank from the straw.

“I may be unfamiliar with most drinking games, but aren’t you supposed to drink only if you hit the target?”

“You always were a stickler for rules.” Hyle said fondly, “But you need to learn you can break them sometimes as well.”

“I suppose I might at that,” Brienne said, and Hyle smiled at her like he'd won a victory, unaware that her thoughts were not on his silly game at all.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Because I’ve been thinking about us, and how we’ve always stuck to a ‘friends with benefits’ rule before now.”

“Before now?” Brienne gave him a wide-eyed, clueless look. “Do you mean we should just be friends with no…you know… _sex_?” 

“Of course not! I meant that I think it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.”

“There are levels?”

“You’re so adorably innocent sometimes,” Hyle nudged her foot under the table with his, “I meant that I think we should see each other more often. Get serious, like.”

“So, more often than every few months?” Brienne said doubtfully.

“Yes, more than every three months. Like regularly. Would you like that?” Hyle looked as though he’d offered her the moon and the man in it, too.

“I don’t know, Hyle. This is pretty sudden. I’m pretty busy, as you know.” Brienne tried to buy some time by putting a mini-cheesecake in her mouth, but one bite and it was gone. “Why can’t we keep things as they are?”

The confusion on Hyle’s face would have been funny had she not been so uncomfortable herself. “You…don’t want to?”

“Well, I just think what we have is fine. It’s hard to make time for each other. We both have jobs, and we live in different cities…”

“We could move in together.” Hyle said. 

“Move in? That’s quite a commitment, isn’t it? Your place is rather small, isn't it?”

“Precisely why we’d be more comfortable in yours.”

“This is an awful lot to think about, Hyle. I hardly know what to say.” 

“I thought you might be shy about it. But sweetling, just think how much fun we’d have.” Hyle reached across the table and threaded his sticky fingers through hers.

_Is this something I want_? _A man in my life who claims to ‘care’ about me_? Brienne’s heart was thudding against her ribs, and she felt more lightheaded than she could blame on the Akvavit. 

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Hyle squeezed her hand, looked into her eyes and said, “You can think about it, if you like. Let me convince you tonight how good it can be.”

“But…living together. That’s…you mean like, only date each other?”

Hyle laughed at her. “It’s not dating if you’re living together. But yeah, I can handle that. And it’s not like you’re dating anyone else. Are you?”

“Dating?” Brienne resisted the urge to touch her neck, “No, I’m not _dating_ anyone.”

“Except me.” Hyle squeezed her hand and then picked up another crab leg.

“Is it really dating if we only see each other once in a while?” 

“Well, see, that won’t matter because we’d be together all the time.” He pulled the meat from a crab claw and held it out to her, “Eat together, sleep together, watch TV together. Doesn’t that sound fun? You can even have that friend of yours, Maude, over whenever you like. We can watch that nerd show you like, with the swords.”

“It’s on hiatus.” Brienne said, picturing what he said all too clearly. “I like you, Hyle, but I don’t feel ready to live with anyone.” A vision of Leo waking up in her bed startled her. She shook her head to banish the fantasy.

“Shake your head all you want, but I will convince you.” Hyle gave her his most winning smile. He put the rejected crabmeat in his mouth and swallowed it. “Are you almost ready to go? I’d like to get started on that.”

“Started on what?”

“On _convincing_ you.” 

“What about dessert?”

“You’re my dessert.” He drained his third Rum and Qola and waved for the server. 

Brienne ate a few more sweets while they waited, seeking comfort in gooey chocolate. 

The waitress arrived. “More drinks, me ‘earties?”

“We’d like the tab.” Hyle said, tearing open a little envelope containing a wet wipe that had come with the crab cracker. 

“Let me get them,” Brienne said, opening her purse to give the waitress a card.

“Thanks, babe.” Hyle told her as the waitress departed to scan the payment.

“You paid for dinner. It’s only fair.” Brienne said, not particularly concerned that their drinks would cost more than the meal had.

“See, we’re already sharing stuff.” 

“We’ve always taken turns paying when we go out.” Brienne said, “Speaking of sharing, what will your roommate do if you move out?”

“He’s been talking about getting his own place anyway, so no big deal.”

“Can’t take living with you, huh?”

Hyle laughed. “I see what you're implying there.”

_Do you_? The waitress put the folder with the bill in front of Brienne and skated off as another party waved at her.  Brienne added a generous tip and signed the receipt gathered her purse and stood. “I need to visit the loo. Do you want to wait for me here or in the car?”

“I’ll use the little pirate’s room and meet you at the exit.”

“See you there.” Brienne looked around for the bathroom, finally spotting a sign that said “Floozies” and making her way through the crowded restaurant. The door had a colorfully carved relief of a woman with a barely-there bodice and bloomers on it, apparently so one wouldn’t confuse it with the Swashbuckler’s bathroom with its thigh-booted, sword-wielding pirate in a gold vest at the other end.

Inside the brightly lit loo, Brienne stopped at the sink to wash her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. The bright fluorescent light gave her skin a sallow tone that made her freckles stand out like constellations. The raised scar on her cheekbone stood out too, pale and ugly. The surgeons had done their best without plastic surgery and it had healed well, if not prettily. The marks where they had stitched it closed surrounded the thick, curved shape of it like tiny legs. In her more morose moments Brienne thought of it as a biggish centipede, though it lacked the full hundred limbs. 

_How is it that **two** men are suddenly interested in me_? She shook water from her hands and held them under a blower before going into the stall, relieved that the throne there was not strangely shaped or painted; the night had been disconcerting enough already. She washed her hands again before joining Hyle at the exit.

“Ready?” He asked, and Brienne nodded, holding the door open and gesturing him through first. They walked in silence to the lot, and Brienne unlocked the door for him before walking around to the driver’s side. They buckled up and she pulled onto the street. 

After they'd gone several blocks, Hyle wrapped his hand around hers on the steering wheel. Brienne let him take it in his, assuming he wanted to hold hands while she drove. Instead, he laid her hand palm down on his thigh and guided it slowly up the leather trousers and onto his crotch. Brienne froze for an instant and then reclaimed her hand. “I need both to drive.” She explained.

“You felt that though, right?” Hyle said, cupping his bulge, “I’m so hard for you right now. I can’t wait to get you home and fuck you.”

“It’s not _home_ , Hyle. Not yours, anyway.”

“I know,” he said, sounding wounded, “That wasn’t what I meant anyway. I’m just really hot for you right now.”

“Hyle…this whole living together conversation has really made me nervous. You know that even if we have sex at my place, it doesn’t mean that I’m in any way agreeing to us living together?”

“Sure. Just sex. No commitments.” Brienne kept her eyes on the road, but she knew he was grinning.  Hyle moved his hand up her thigh and wedged it between her legs. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“Please don’t distract me while I’m driving, Hyle. You know how nervous I get.”

“Hmm, does this distract you then?” he asked, trying to rub a finger on the double-thick seam at the crotch of her jeans. The only thing Brienne felt was annoyance. 

“I’m serious, Hyle. _Not while I’m driving_.”

Hyle removed his hand, though more slowly than she might have liked. Soon he’d rediscovered her music player and started playing the second song he’d downloaded. Brienne couldn’t distinguish it from the first.

When at last she turned onto her street, the familiar tang of salt air and the antique street lights glowing through the mist off the ocean was a relief after the city streets. The sight of her cottage with its blue trim and neat lawn, silvery with dew, brought a smile to her face. Coming from money meant she could afford something more grand, but she’d renovated the ramshackle old house after her accident, made it whole again as she’d healed physically. 

She parked next to Hyle’s sports car and shut off the engine. “Would you like to come in?” she offered formally, hoping to forestall any undue familiarity in Hyle toward her home. 

“You know it. I’m ready to have that whisky now,” Hyle got out of the car and followed Brienne to her door, “And I’m ready to have you, too.”

“Corny.” Brienne said under her breath as she stepped over the threshold and hung her purse on a hook in the entryway. 

“Me or the whisky?”

“Both, come to think of it.”

Hyle pressed up against her, one hand on her waist and the other reaching up to palm the back of her head. “Because we’re both sweet, right?” he guided her into a kiss and maneuvered her over to the living room couch that was rarely used. Brienne let him pull her down to the wide cushions, his mouth still on hers, his tongue probing her lips.

_Just breathe_ ; she told herself, _you’ve done this with him more times than you can count_. She opened her mouth and let him in, lying back as his weight pressed against her chest, his hand tangled in her hair. _Just breathe_. 

She opened her eyes and saw Grumkin watching them from the chair with slitted, disapproving eyes and almost laughed, but Hyle chose that moment to groan and try to slide his hand down the front of her pants.

“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom,” Brienne suggested.

“Good idea.” Hyle pushed away from her and sat, breathing hard. “Do you want to get us the whisky and join me?”

“Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Hyle took himself off to the bedroom and Brienne went to the kitchen. She looked at the bottle of Old Raven and shuddered. Taking two dissimilar glasses from the shelf, she set them next to it, unscrewed the top of the Old Raven and poured. She picked up hers and sniffed it. Caramel, wet dog…was that a hint of pineapple? She took a sip and swirled it around in her mouth for a few seconds. It tasted like Candy Corn soaked in vodka. _Well, I knew tonight would be a challenge_.

She carried both glasses to the bedroom. Hyle was sitting up against her headboard, rubbing himself through his leather pants, eyes trained on her. Brienne was momentarily confused by how normal leather seemed at the Club, yet how out of place it seemed here in her room. On Hyle. She handed him his glass, took a sip from hers, set it on her dresser and kicked off her shoes. Hyle’s were already tossed to one side.

“I need to get something. I’ll be right back.” Brienne left to retrieve what she’d gone out and purchased earlier that afternoon. She handed a foil wrapped package to Hyle. “Here.”

“A sex-bug test?” Hyle asked. 

“Yes.” Brienne held up her own packet. 

Hyle took a long draught of his whisky and got off the bed, grinning. “Sure. I’ll take it if it puts your mind at ease.” He trailed his hand over her hip as he walked past. “But I don’t expect you to, sweetling.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m sure you don’t need to. I, on the other hand, am of a more adventurous nature.” Hyle saw her face begin to cloud and mistook Brienne’s anger for concern. “I’m pretty sure I’m clean, but I’ll happily pee on the stick for you to prove it.”

“It’s rather presumptuous of you to assume that you’re the only one with other lovers, Hyle.” Her tone was cool, but having to justify taking an STD test had made her resentful. 

“Really? You surprise me, Brienne.” He winked at her and left to take the test, clearly believing he was humoring her.

Brienne sipped her Old Raven, set the glass down, and then picked it up again to drink a bit more. Hyle came back and held up his stick for her inspection. All clear.

“Good to know. Now go wash your hands so I can take my test.”

“Aw, I didn’t pee on the part I’m holding! I was careful not to splash.”

“Go.”

“Okay. Mom.”

Another sip. Her mouth was starting to feel numb. Hyle came back, waved his hands to show they were clean and climbed onto the bed. “Now, where were we?”

“You were there, I was about to take my test.”

“Oh, right. If you insist.” Hyle settled back with his hands behind his head and rolled his hips slightly. “I’ll be waiting.”

Brienne walked to the bathroom, ripping open the foil packet as she went. There was a minor wobble to her steps, but she wasn’t about to let herself get drunk. Becoming a little tipsy wouldn’t hurt and might make what she was about to do more enjoyable. The kissing had been alright. It hadn’t turned her on in the least, but as a sort of academic exercise she’d found it tolerable. Verging on pleasant, even. Maybe.

She took the test, set the stick with its negative results on a folded tissue, and returned to the bedroom. “Negative.” She told Hyle. “I left it in the bathroom if you want to check it.”

“I believe you. Come here.” He patted the bed and Brienne took another sip of whisky before approaching. Hyle’s glass was empty.

“Do you need a refill?”

“Why don’t you go ahead and bring the bottle in,” he suggested.

“I’ll just nip into the kitchen and top us both up, alright?” Without waiting for an answer she took both glasses to the kitchen, surprised by how low the level in hers was. She took another tiny sip before topping them both up again and returning to the bedroom. 

She set her glass to the far side of the night table and lay down next to Hyle. He began kissing her, the astringent taste of Old Raven on his tongue mingling with hers before he rolled on top, parting her legs with his knee. Brienne closed her eyes and felt the pleasant dizziness afforded by the alcohol, reassuring herself again that she wasn’t anywhere near drunk. Hyle moved down to unbutton her jeans and she raised her hips so he could pull them down. She opened her eyes and watched him peel them off of her. 

“Such long, long legs.” Hyle said, finally slipping the pants off her feet. He kneeled at the foot of the bed, looking over the expanse of them in exaggerated wonder before grasping her calves to spread her legs. Brienne felt him staring at her underwear from the awkward angle and scooted back against the headboard, pulling her knees up. Hyle put his hand on the carpet to help get himself off his knees. “Hello, what's this on the floor?” He held up a piece of paper with tiny holes in it, squinting at it curiously. “Leo and Sapphire? Who’s that?”

Brienne scrambled across the bed to snatch the paper from his fingers. “It’s…it’s nothing. A joke. Margaery. She wrote it.” She put it in the nightstand drawer. “It looks like Grumkin got to it.”

“Why is there a heart drawn around their names?”

“They’re characters. In a book.”

“So?” Hyle got back on the bed and crawled on his knees over to her.

“She ships them.” He kissed her neck and she groaned a little just thinking about Leo and how happy he’d been when she kept the note. 

“You like that, huh?” Hyle put her hand on his crotch, pressing and rubbing it against the leather covering his erection. “I like _this_. Is that what Marge’s family got rich from? Shipping?” He didn’t seem interested in an answer, so she gave none. She felt his fingers at the waistband of her panties and made herself stop thinking of Leo. 

“Do you want to take this off?” she asked, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Hyle sat up, pulled it over his head and swung it like a stripper’s knickers before loosing it to land across the room. Brienne laughed and ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling much like she was following a playbook of seductive moves. 

“Now yours.” Hyle said, undoing the buttons of her silk blouse. “Nice bra. It matches your panties.” He passed his fingers over the black lace, but made no attempt to remove it. He’d seldom shown much interest in her breasts, and Brienne felt all the reawakened insecurity of not being _enough_ up there. Before she could dwell too long on that unhappy thought, Hyle whispered in her ear, “Do you want me to go down on you?”

“No. I think maybe I’m just ready for you to fuck me.” The very thought of Hyle’s mouth _there_. Somehow she was certain she couldn’t bear such an intimacy from him. But not because of Leo, because of how he’d made her feel safe, how he’d made her feel wanted.

_Not at all_.

“You’re sure ready to go, aren’t you?” Hyle’s words brought her mind back to the present.

“Mmm, yes. Let’s fuck.” Fucking was nothing. Empty sex, it was all she wanted, right? 

“You know what I really love?” Hyle’s hand was in her underwear now, his thick fingers touching the neatly trimmed hair between her legs. “I _love_ the way you suck my dick.”

Brienne drew in a deep breath. She’d done it for Stormcrow, and she didn’t even know him. Hyle was practically a boyfriend. She’d had his cock in her mouth plenty of times. Besides, it would get his hand out of her pants.

“You’d like that, huh?” Brienne’s words were a bit slurred, but maybe that was to be expected in the middle of foreplay. “Take your pants off while I take another drink.”

“How about if you blow me with my pants on?” Hyle unzipped and eased his cock out. Brienne drained her glass.

“Seriously? With your pants on? What about your balls?” _And the rest of your dick, which really doesn’t need to look any shorter_. “Uh, are you not wearing underwear?”

“Nope, just skin against leather, babe. You should try it sometime.” He stroked himself, proudly displaying his shaft while he squeezed what was still covered with the other hand.

“Don’t your balls get awful sweaty?”

“They’re a little moist,” he allowed, “slick, hot…”

Brienne decided to take matters into her mouth to end the conversation. She leaned down and swirled her tongue around the head of his penis before letting it slide between her lips, curling her fingers around the bottom of it as a barrier to keep her mouth from his pants. Hyle began grunting and rocking his hips, and it crossed her mind that she could finish him this way. 

It would be okay if he never made it inside her. This was still going through with sex, wasn’t it? No swallowing, though. That was for Leo alone. That meant something. _No_. She was supposed to get past romanticizing them. Maybe she _could_ swallow Hyle’s cum. _Don’t think of Leo. Whatever you do, do not think of Leo_ …

_Hells, no_. 

Even through the haze of alcohol, perhaps because of it, she knew she could never do it. He could just spurt on her bed. She could always buy a new duvet.

If it were Leo in her bed, this would all be different. They’d make love all night, and she’d wake him up in the morning by climbing on top of him. Did he wake up hard? Didn’t matter, just looking into his sleepy eyes…

“Oh, man, you gotta stop. I’m so close.” 

Her mind was so far from what was happening that she’d almost forgotten the man on the other end of the cock. “Do you want to finish this way? I can get you a towel.” _Don’t get any ideas about doing it in my mouth_.

“No. You wanted to be fucked, and fuck you I shall.” Hyle got back onto his knees and, before she knew what he was about, toppled her onto her back and had her panties off. “But first, let’s get you all revved up again.” He laughed at her befuddled look and then his hand was between her legs. His mouth came down on hers and he pushed his thumb between her folds and pressed it down hard, rubbing up and down in quick, jerky motions.

“Ow!” Brienne backed away from him. “What are you –”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hyle put his thumb in his mouth and ripped an edge off his nail, spitting it across the room before trying again. “Better?”

 “I think I’m just somewhat sensitive down there right now. I’m guess I’m just _really_ ready for you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Hyle crawled on top of her, holding his cock.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to take your pants off?”

“I thought it would be pretty hot to screw you with them on. I’ve done it like this before. You’ll love it.”

Brienne pictured the zipper tab digging into her skin, the who-knows-where-it’s-been leather rubbing against her. “No. Take them off.”

“You sure?” Hyle looked disappointed.

“Off.” Brienne started to reach for her glass, remembered that it was empty. Hyle took off the trousers and his cock bobbed out in front of him. “Come here,” she said huskily.

Hyle positioned himself above her again and tried to guide himself in. He paused with the head barely inside, thwarted by the lack of moisture. “Man, I love how tight you fit around me,” he grunted, “You need any lube, or can you handle my dick without it?”

Brienne thought of the sample packets in the drawer with her toys and shook her head, arching her back and lowering her voice to convince him. “I’m fine. Really.”

Hyle pushed harder, easing all the way in with a shuddering moan. “Gods, we’re such a perfect fit.” 

Was there a man alive who didn’t congratulate himself on fitting snuggly in a woman? If Hyle chose to believe his size was responsible for the difficult entry, Brienne wasn’t inclined to educate him. He was in, and other than the annoying friction, Brienne was surprised to feel next to nothing. Sure, he was inside. She felt that much, but her emotions were untouched. This was working out as better than she’d hoped; she was engaged in sex with someone other than Leo, and she was fine. 

_I can do this. I am a leaf on the wind_. _I am snow falling in the forest_. _I am a wispy cloud glowing in the sun_ … Hyle began pumping into her, grunting with pleasure. _I…I am a…a still lake reflecting_... Brienne’s calm shattered. _I hate this. I hate this. I can’t stand this! I want Leo. No one but Leo._ She opened her eyes and saw Hyle watching her, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. _You can get through this_ , she coached herself urgently, _imagine it’s Leo I’m with_. _Leo_ … Brienne shut her eyes tight and tried. _It’s Leo inside me, Leo fucking me_ …s _ure, if Leo were mediocre in bed and smelled of candied pineapple_. 

Hyle was smiling, perhaps misinterpreting the anguish on her face as excitement. “Now, about that hickey I promised.” He lowered his head and put his mouth over Leo’s mark, latching on –

Brienne’s whole body lurched; legs tensed and hips twisted, her arms, muscular from kayaking, came up fast and she slammed both palms into Hyle’s chest, flinging him off the bed to land on the floor with a thud.

“Ow! Fuck!” Brienne heard him gasping for air. “What’d you do that for? By the fucking seven, I think you broke my ribs! Fuck!”

Brienne scrambled out of bed to Hyle’s side, adrenalin still shooting through her limbs. “Gods, I am so sorry! Oh no. Oh no.” She looked at his face, pale with pain. “I didn’t mean to, Hyle. I just – I told you no hickeys.” 

“Fuck.” Hyle said again, getting off the floor with is arms crossed over his ribcage to sit on the bed. “Fuck. Fuck it hurts.”

“You startled me. I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you.” Brienne sat next to him, shaking with reaction. 

Hyle glared at her, blowing air from his nose like a winded horse. Grumkin chose that moment to leap onto the bed and rub up against him, purring. “Look. Even the cat feels sorry for me,” Hyle pouted, reaching out to pet him. Grumkin uttered one _Mewp_ and silently farted before leaping off the bed and stalking out of the room, tail high. 

Hyle doubled over and retched, then cried out in agony as the motion jarred his ribs. The smell left by the cat seemed to expand rather than dissipate as Hyle ran out of the room in a crouch, his cock bobbing limp and dejected between his thighs. Brienne heard the bathroom door slam.

She got up and put her shirt and underwear back on, wondering at her sudden calm. She gathered Hyle’s clothes and laid them out neatly on the bed, for surely the date was over after _that_. Brienne sat down beside them to wait.

After what seemed a long time, Hyle walked back into the room, a towel around his waist. He was still stooped in pain, and he was holding up Leo’s tie. “What’s this?” 

“A tie?” 

“Whose tie?”

Brienne blinked, surprised by his curiosity. “My tie.”

“Why does it smell like a man’s cologne?”

“He was wearing it before he gave it to me.” _Obviously_. 

“I’d ask you to drive me to hospital, but I think you might be drunk.” Hyle said, letting the tie drop to the floor. “And to be honest, I don’t think I trust you right now.”

“I could call an ambulance,” Brienne offered, “Though you’re probably just bruised. You seem to be breathing okay.”

“Don’t bother. I’m just going to get dressed and drive myself home.” 

She gave him his trousers and the effort to get one leg in them had him cursing all over again before he gave up. Brienne had to help him dress as he glared at her. Shock or alcohol or both were wearing off, and she’d begun to tremble again before they were done. She walked him to the door.

“Are you okay to drive?” 

“I’ll go slow.”

“I’m…sorry for hitting you.”

“Sure.” Hyle said sullenly. He stepped out the door and then turned around. The fog made him somehow insubstantial, the watery light from the porch wavering around him. “So. The ‘blemish’ on your neck?”

Brienne shrugged. “A hickey.”

“Did you hit him, too?” Hyle snarled. Then he was off the porch and she could barely make him out in the mist as he got into his car and drove away. 

Brienne felt amusement rising at his remark, but when she closed the door and leaned her head against it, it didn’t strike her as very funny after all. She turned out the porch light and let her feet carry her to the bedroom, where she collapsed on the bed. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, willing herself not to think. The alcohol burned sluggishly through her blood until all that remained was a throbbing pain behind her eyes that promised a fierce headache come morning. 

It was a mild enough penance for what she’d done to Hyle. She closed her eyes on the overwhelming sense of guilt and shame for what she’d done. Not just losing control of her strength and injuring him. No, she’d also used him in a stupid bid to prove to herself that what she had with Leo was nothing more than empty sex, that her infatuation with him was built on lies and mystery, and it had backfired. In the midst of the act she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, had been so overcome with her feelings that when Hyle had tried to leave his mark over Leo’s she had reacted without thought.

Eventually, she grew weary of laying there and berating herself and decided to get up. First she drank a large glass of water and took pills for her headache, and then she got her softest nightclothes and went to take a shower, where she washed thoroughly, letting the water cleanse her until it ran cold. 

Passing Grumkin on the way back to the bedroom she growled, “Not funny.” He was blatantly unimpressed by her anger. She stripped off her duvet and carried it to the laundry room. While she was there she took an old quilt from the linen closet and carried it back to her room. The pattern of pastel unicorns and clouds was faded, but the batting was still plump, the stitching solid. Grandma Tarth had made the blanket for her when she was little, not long after losing her mother. She couldn’t remember either woman’s face, but the quilt was well-loved, and right now she needed its comfort.

When she was all bundled up in bed, she opened the nightstand drawer and took out her tablet. More than anything, she needed Leo. Wished he could be with her, to hold her and soothe her. She wanted to tuck her head under his chin and smell his warm skin, feel his heartbeat. She couldn’t have any of that, not until Thursday anyway. But maybe, just maybe, he’d been online. Seen her post. Left a response. If she could just know that he was out there, she would feel better.

Brienne made no pretense of checking her mail or MyFace page. She went straight to the Whisky Lover’s board. The little envelope icon in the upper right corner had a 1 over it. Trying not to get too excited lest it prove to be a message from anyone other than Leo, she tapped the icon.

Relief  washed through her when she saw it was from CaskSlayer.

CaskSlayer: Cheesy Bears? Oily residue? Ursine notes? 

As messages went, if was pretty brief. It was after one in the morning now, and he’d written it over three hours ago. She checked his profile and was disappointed to see he hadn’t been back online since. She clicked through to the forum to see if there were any responses to his post or her notes on snack and whisky pairings. There were:

**BarrelAged: CaskSlayer, I was about to seriously question your judgment in pairing crisps with a fine whisky. Then I saw Whisky_Peat’s notes on Cheesy Bears and began to wonder if there’s something to this. I’m off to the store for snacks.**

**SingleMaltedMan: This is alcohol abuse of the highest order. One does not pair processed foods of any sort with whisky. Not even the so-called ‘bargain brands.’ It calls into question any supposed knowledge that you purport to have about the subject.**

**CaskSlayer: Whisky_Peat, your decision to pair Cheesy Bears with Bear Island is nothing short of inspired. I wonder what other snack foods are waiting on grocery shelves just waiting to be explored? BarrelAged, don’t keep us in suspense. What did you find and how was it? SingleMaltedMan: I do not claim to possess the no-doubt superior knowledge of the spirit that you do, but I’ve always felt an open mind goes with an open bottle. Perhaps I was wrong.**

**SingleMaltedMan: If one chooses to forgo centuries of tradition and study only to embrace the latest fad, then we are indeed less for being ‘open minded.’ What next? Whisky in a box?**

**CaskSlayer: Those centuries of tradition, including the early production of white whisky in the isolated Mountains of the Morn, the forebear of your precious single malt, were built upon a willingness to experiment. Should we deny our descendants the opportunity to benefit from this same pioneering spirit? I’ll be proud indeed if my grandchildren enjoy crisps with whisky because of my bravery in trying new things.**

**BarrelAged: Whisky_Peat…I was quite anxious to reproduce your results with the Cheesy Bears, but alas I was unable to obtain any. Where did you find yours? I had to settle for Gelly Hooves. I chose the horse-shaped variety with the cinnamon sugar coating. I am sorry to report that the gummy residue left in my molars after a thorough chewing went poorly with the blended malt I had on hand.**

**SingleMaltedMan: This, sers, is a slippery slope. Where are your standards?**

**CaskSlayer: BarrelAged, did you try soaking the Gelly Hooves in the whisky first, to infuse it with the cinnamon sugar? I suggest at least a two hour soak.**

Delighted by the responses, Brienne went back to the Private Message screen and reread his message to her:

PM: CaskSlayer: CaskSlayer: Cheesy Bears? Oily residue? Ursine notes? 

Grinning, she typed in a response:

PM: Whisky_Peat: It appears that I have plummeted down the infamous ‘slippery slope’. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can obtain whisky in a box?

_If there’s such a thing I’d be surprised Hyle didn’t come across it when he was shopping for our date_. Still, though he might know little about whisky, at least he wasn’t a snob like SingleMaltedMan. 

_Poor Hyle_. Brienne hoped that his ribs, like his ego, were merely bruised. She suspected he’d lost the prospect of an inexpensive place to live rather than the possible love of his life on this night. _I did warn him not to give me a hickey, which would have been bad enough, but to do so over Leo’s_ … Brienne picked up the gnawed-on paper with _Leo and Sapphire_ written on it and traced the heart with a fingertip. _I am a fool. A fool in_ _l–_

A faint ding from the tablet interrupted the thought and she woke the tablet.

PM: CaskSlayer: As far as I know, the only kind of box that contains whisky is a case of 12 bottles. Sorry to disappoint. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: Just as well. I am leery of incurring more scorn from SingleMaltedMan anyway. 

PM: CaskSlayer: He’s an ass. I had no idea they were still making cheesy bears. I must have eaten my weight in those things as a kid. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: They stopped making them about ten years ago, after the ‘real cheese’ was found to contain more than a little real animal hair. 

PM: CaskSlayer: Was it at least from real bears?

PM: Whisky_Peat:  I’m sorry to break it to you, but it was rodent hair you were eating as a child.

PM: CaskSlayer: That would explain the long scaly tail my brother grew. He was even more addicted than I was.

PM: Whisky_Peat: He must get a lot of strange looks from people.

PM: CaskSlayer: Our father had it removed. My brother was heartbroken. So your notes on the pairing were made up?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Every word. I was going for scholarly, but only managed to expose my faulty knowledge of whisky to SingleMaltedMan. Thank the gods he’s not a moderator or I’d be kicked off the forum.

PM: CaskSlayer: Your notes were brilliant, though I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t actually try the pairing. I think SingleMaltedMan – henceforth SMM – could do with a little more rat hair in his life. 

PM: Whisky_Peat: He’s probably already got a scaly tail anyway. What a prig.

PM: CaskSlayer: Prig? Ha ha, I think you’ve just described my father.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Maybe he *is* your father. Have you checked his profile?

PM: CaskSlayer: Gods, what a thought. Can’t be b/c my father doesn’t do technology. There are profiles on this forum?

_Could Leo have forgotten that he has a profile here, too_? Brienne copied the link to SMM’s information and sent it to CaskSlayer.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Take a look. Just as I suspected, he says his title is ‘Whisky God’ with his location as ‘Mt. Single Malt.’ 

PM: CaskSlayer: Did you see his quote? ‘Pride - where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.’ I wonder if he knows where that quote is from. Is he suggesting he’s the unimproved version of Darcy?

Leo had quoted Pride and Prejudice the first night they met, but his knowledge of the quote still made Brienne swoon.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Maybe he’s using it ironically?

PM: CaskSlayer: Sure, and maybe he has sideburns too. Does everyone have a profile? How do you find them?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Just click on the member’s name.

There was a long pause before CaskSlayer came back. Brienne wondered if he was looking at her profile.

PM: CaskSlayer: Well, that was embarrassing. I forgot I made a profile when I joined.

PM: Whisky_Peat: With age comes memory loss…

PM: CaskSlayer: That’s not the embarrassing part. I can’t believe I used that quote. ‘Of all the bright cruel lies they tell you, the cruelest is the one called love.’ I sound like a whiny teenager.

Brienne took a deep breath. She needed to tread lightly, though she desperately wanted to know his motive for using it.

PM: Whisky_Peat: It’s not a terrible quote. Not if you really feel that way.

PM: CaskSlayer: Maybe I did, back then. What a numpty. Speaking of, what kind of whisky did your date bring?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Ever heard of The Official Whisky of the Westerosi Postal Workers Union?

PM: CaskSlayer: Sounds promising.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Oh, you have no idea. Old Raven’s Sweet, Sweet Corn Whisky.

PM: CaskSlayer: So you drank it?

PM: Whisky_Peat: I did. It was the perfect marriage of candy corn and vodka.

PM: CaskSlayer: Sounds like a good pairing for cheesy bears.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Lol. I’m hoping I don’t still feel it by morning. I was unaware of the high ABV.

PM: CaskSlayer: Which was?

PM: Whisky_Peat: 180 proof.

PM: CaskSlayer: Ouch. How did it go otherwise? Is your date still there?

PM: Whisky_Peat: Poorly and no.

PM: CaskSlayer: I’m sorry.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Don’t be. 

PM: CaskSlayer: In any case, don’t give up hope. 

_Tread lightly_ …

PM: Whisky_Peat: I assume you have some reason for saying that.

PM: CaskSlayer: I do. I don’t want to sound like Maester Phil or anything, but when you least expect it, that’s when it happens.

_When what happens? Never mind. I know_.

PM: Whisky_Peat: I’ll keep that in mind.

PM: CaskSlayer: Do. Gods, I didn’t realize how late it is! I’m supposed to meet my brother for breakfast tomorrow.

PM: Whisky_Peat: The brother of the scaly tail?

PM: CaskSlayer: Formerly of the scaly tail. That’s the one. Thanks for the laugh about the cheesy bears. I hope BarrelAged comes through with those gelly hooves.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Me too. Good night.

PM: CaskSlayer: Good night. I hope you don’t suffer old raven’s revenge in the morning.

PM: Whisky_Peat: Lol.

Brienne stared at the screen, frowning, until it went dark from inactivity. Then she went to get her phone from her purse, still hanging in the entryway. She turned on the light and typed out a quick text to Margaery:

**Brienne Tarth: Do you have Ellaria’s direct number?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the ending a cliffhanger? Probably. Next chapter will be a Jaime POV, and they will be at the club.
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to comment and kudo. It means more to us than you can imagine. 
> 
> Of course, those who comment are entitled to buy one - get one 50% off coupons at an Ironborn's near you. All You Can Plunder soft drink not included. Alcohol available for purchase separately.
> 
> So - comment, maybe?


	21. Sex, Truth, & Video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's week takes an interesting turn.
> 
> This chapter is so long it was tempting to cut it into two or three separate entries and tease it out over a week or two, but we promised actual smut in chapter 21, so it's all here.

“No. We’ve given them every chance to pay. What? No, what are we going to do with that old wreck?” Jaime leaned far back in his chair, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “Well, make them some other deal, we don’t want the property. Harrenhal Holdings must have something else they can surrender. I _know_ Tywin Lannister signed off on the estate for collateral. I don’t care. Yeah, well he’s not the CEO _anymore_.” Jaime put both his feet up on the desk with a thump. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he growled into the phone, “You’re going to bring Roose Bolton in on this…what? Grow some balls, man! _No one_ wants to deal with him, but it’s not like he’s going to _actually_ flay you. That was outlawed centuries ago. He assigned the loan to Hoat – yes, _Vargo_ Hoat. Yes, my father – Tywin – he brought Hoat in, but it was Bolton who –” Jaime listened to the near hysterical voice on the other end of the connection for a moment and chuckled. “ _Both_ hands? Put a pen in his mouth and make him sign that way, then. It’ll save you having to listen to him lisping about ‘thaving hith cathtle.’ Offer new terms if you have to. Give him longer to pay, a lower interest rate, take possession of whatever livestock he has left. A bear? He does not have a fucking bear. Not a real one, anyway. Even the pelt is a fake. _Yes, it is_. When you’re out there just _feel_ it, the thing is made of recycled tires and hemp.  Whatever you have to do, Casterly does not want to own Harrenhal…again.”

Jaime was growing weary of the conversation with the regional manager of the Riverlands Casterly Bank. He looked out the open door of his office as he listened to the man enumerate all the reasons they should just repossess the old ruin, idly watching customers and tellers going about the repetitive business of money coming in and going out. His thoughts wandered to Sapphire, as they so often did these days. His eye was caught by a tall woman at one of the teller windows and he smiled.

It was funny how, when you were really interested in someone, you thought you saw them everywhere. This seldom happened since he’d fallen for Sapphire, because her form was so singular, but her height and shape were burned into his every conscious thought, and he watched strange woman wearing slightly baggy sweatpants with pleasure.

“Bonifer, I tire of discussing this. Do I need to send you some help to deal with Hoat or Bolton?” Jaime couldn’t take his eyes off the woman, her back still to him, a soft blue scarf covering her hair. “Bonifer – Bonifer, stop talking. Do you want me to send Gregor Clegane out there to go with you? He and Hoat have some history –”

The woman was putting something in her purse, and as she canted her hip to make it easier to rest the bag against it, he _knew_. 

The earpiece of the phone hit the floor with a clatter as adrenalin surged through Jaime. He had to speak to her! This was his chance to meet her outside of the club without breaking any rules. His urgency was such that, forgetting his legs were still propped up on the desk, he fell sideways out of his chair. Cursing, he lurched forward and gained his feet only to trip over the threshold of his office, catching himself on his hands. Peck jumped up to help him as the woman walked toward the big glass doors.

“Are you alright, Ser?” Peck asked, steadying Jaime with a firm grip on his shoulders. 

The woman strode out of the door being courteously held open by the guard. Jaime wrenched out of Peck’s grip and stumbled a few steps before breaking into a jog, surprising the guard, who was now standing in front of the exit. A small dance ensued, with each dodging to the same side several times before Jaime physically set the guard aside and burst into the wide and empty hallway. He sprinted to the row of elevators. All of the doors were closed, colored triangles marking whether they'd gone up or down. 

Jaime hesitated only an instant before running to the stairway, taking the steps two and three at a time, praying not to break a leg in his reckless hurry, flinging himself around the corner at each floor until he reached the door that read ‘Lower Level.’ He pushed the door hard and was rewarded with painful shocks up his arms when the hydraulic hinges prevented it opening fast enough to injure anyone on the other side. 

Squeezing through, Jaime walked into the lobby, chest heaving, and looked around frantically. This time of day the building was teeming with people, there to do business with any of the dozens of companies housed there. Jaime stood still and scanned the foyer: blue scarf, blonde hair, blue scarf…

She was gone. He dashed to another stairwell, this one leading to the parking garage. All four levels of it. Hopes sinking, Jaime ran down one flight and stepped out into the dimly-lit lot. He paced rapidly from one end to the other before realizing that this level was reserved for employee parking. He knew the next was also, so he scurried down two more flights and checked the third level. Then the fourth. No sign of Sapphire. By this point she’d be far enough away from the building that he’d never find her. 

Feeling old and out of shape and foolish, he sat on a bench by the elevators and put his head in his hands. Sweat sheened his face and stung his armpits as he waited for his heart to slow. He’d been so close. Why had she walked into his bank of all the hundreds to choose from, if he weren’t meant to meet her? To find out whom she was?  
  
Jaime raised his head as the realization that there might be another way to find out about her struck him. _Of course_! He pushed the elevator call button, waiting impatiently for it to arrive. His legs still felt like rubber from the failed pursuit, and he now had plenty of time to ride back up to the bank. He took the parking lift up four floors to the lobby, then another to the bank. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and ran his hands through his hair before stepping inside. The tale of his frantic departure had no doubt spread to the entire bank; no sense feeding the rumors by looking like he’d just run down dozens of flights of stairs. 

The clerk who’d been speaking to Sapphire was still at her post. Jaime could summon her to his office, or he could go to her window and wait until she was finished with her current customer. He opted for the latter, assuming it would draw less attention than having her come to his office. 

Jaime walked over to the teller’s station and leaned casually on the long counter that fronted the row of service kiosks. The clerk, an ancient crone with a face like curdled Lamekh, glanced at him sourly before continuing to count out the pile of coppers before her. A short, stout man in grubby second-hand clothes watched intently as she placed a bony finger on each coin and slid it to the pile she’d already tallied, her lips moving as she silently counted. Jaime waited impatiently as each copper star joined the growing pile with a metallic clink, and the clerk singled out another and another with the rhythmic frequency of a dirge. 

_The second richest bank in the known world, and I end up waiting behind the beggar from Sixth and Harold street with his jar of pity pennies._ Jaime considered offering the man a gold Dragon in exchange for taking his hoard of change and going elsewhere, but then thought better of it. Such an act would only encourage the vagrant to come in _more_ often, rather than less.

Jaime’s other employees had noticed him loitering and begun to stare. It was rare for their CEO to spend time among them, much less to wait patiently to speak to one of their own. It was true that he never mingled with them, keeping himself aloof as much as possible. His father had never been friendly either, but for some reason he was perceived as Very Important and Busy, whereas Jaime would hazard a guess that he was seen only as arrogant and contemptuous. They probably just assumed that he didn’t know any of their names. They weren’t quite wrong.

He didn’t know _most_ of their names, but he knew that of the teller Sapphire had stood before over a half hour ago, and he used it as the odiferous man took his deposit receipt, sketched her a grand bow, and departed at last.

“Missus Moelle, how are you on this fine day?” Jaime placed himself before her to forestall the approach of any other customers. He gave her a pleasant smile, counting on the power of dimples to charm the old woman.

Moelle scowled up at him. “Mr. Lannister. To what do I owe the pleasure?” _Pleasure_ was uttered ironically, but Jaime forged ahead.

“You recently served one of our esteemed customers, a rather tall blonde woman.” He waited a moment, and receiving no more than a cold glare from pale eyes embedded in folds of intricate wrinkles, was forced to continue. “You do recall her, do you not?”

Moelle nodded. “That I do. Nothing wrong with my memory, Ser.”

“Of course not.” _You probably remember back when the Targaryen’s were terrorizing Westeros on their dragons_. “The woman is an old family friend. Perhaps you recall her name?” Jaime waited hopefully for the crone to produce it.

“That I do, Ser.”

Oh, _graddakh_. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. “Would you mind telling me what it was?”

“If she’s an old family friend, then I wonder that you do not know it.” 

“Ah. Well, my memory is not so keen as yours, good lady. It’s been several years since I’ve spoken to the woman, but seeing her here made me recall that my esteemed father, Tywin, was rather fond of her father. And, um, with his sixtieth name day celebration coming up, I thought it would be a nice surprise to include him.”

“So you’re asking on behalf of your lord father, then?”

 ** _Lord_** _father? What century did she think this was_? Jaime gave her his most winning smile, “Indeed.”

Moelle returned his smile, her tiny sharp teeth glinting behind scarlet lipstick. “Mr. Lannister, I’ve known you since you were a wee babe soiling your smallclothes. I’ve been working for Casterly Bank for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Yes, I know madam, and we appreciate your service.” _Gods, I hope she doesn’t remember that time Tyrion and I put laxative in her coffee_. 

“I’m sure you must recall, Ser, that our customer’s privacy is a matter we take quite seriously here at Casterly Bank. We do _not_ share their information. Ever.”

“But surely, as the Chief Executive Office I am entitled –"

“Entitled.” She produced a snort that would have done a small pony proud. “You may recall that Mr. Lannister – _Tywin_ Lannister – decided that not even the highest officers of the company should be privy to personal information, after he found out that your brother Tyrion was using it to meet women. Shameful!”

Jaime swallowed, recalling how it came to light that Tyrion had managed to contact and ask out every remotely attractive of-age female who’d come through their doors. “You’re not suggesting that I’m asking for such nefarious personal reasons, are you?”

“Ser, I went to school with your grandsire Tytos, a truly honorable man, Gods rest his soul. I wouldn’t trust _you_ as far as I could spit a rat.”

“I see,” Jaime said tightly, “I bid you good day then, missus Moelle.” He turned to go, but not before catching the woman’s smile of triumph. _I wonder if she still drinks coffee_?  

He walked back to his office and shut the door, ignoring Peck’s questioning look. At his desk he opened the top drawer and pulled out a ragged sheet of paper and glared at it. “Who is she, Grumkin?” he asked the childish pencil drawing of a black and white cat, smudged and dirty from repeated erasures. His attempts to use it for a reverse image search had yielded only other badly drawn cats…plus dogs, cows, a killer whale and more than a few penguins.

He made to crumple the paper and throw it out, but reconsidered and put it back in the drawer.   There had to be some way to find her. Jaime pressed a button on his phone. “Peck? Could you come in here please?”

Peck was walking in before he’d hit the disconnect button. “Yes, Ser?”

“I need you to get me some video from the security cameras. Can you do that?”

“I believe so, Ser."

“I need everything recorded from ten o’clock this morning until ten-forty-five or so.”

“That’s a lot of material, Ser, with so many cameras. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“No. Yes. Can I count on your discretion, Peck?”

“Of course, Ser."

“A woman was in here earlier. Someone I…dated. I wasn’t able to catch her before she left. I know this sounds creepy, but I’d like to see any recordings we have of her.”

“I can go through the files and edit together what I find.”

“I would really appreciate that, Peck. It should be easy to pick her out. She’s quite tall, wearing sweatpants and a scarf over her blonde hair.

“I’ll get right on it, Ser. It might take a couple of hours.”

“Thank you.” Jaime looked at the old clock. “I have that meeting with Baelish in a few minutes. I'm hoping it will be over by three."

“I’ll get to work on them right away. Maybe I can have them sorted by the time you’re back.”

*~*~*~ 

Jaime’s meeting was in one of the conference rooms. Tryng not to look bored while listening to a proposal from the Baelish Collective to build a mountaintop casino and amusement park was more effort than Jaime could muster. Their proposed main attraction, the Moon Door Bungee Plunge, had future liability lawsuit written all over it.   On his way back to his office he noticed Moelle looking as pleased with herself as a dog that had rolled around on something the cat had dragged in. Jaime looked forward to her eventual retirement party, though she seemed likely to still be working for Casterly Bank when Tyrion’s future children were running things. _Or my own_ , he thought, grinning. It wasn’t something he’d contemplated in a very long time, having kids. _Gods, would they be tall. Tyrion will hate that_.     

Peck, with his seeming radar for Jaime’s presence, turned and looked up as he crossed the lobby. “The files are on your computer, Ser.”

"Thank you, Peck. No calls." Jaime went into his office, closing the door. 

It didn’t take him long to find the file, along with a note from his assistant:

_Ser,_

_I’ve compiled the clearest images from different cameras, beginning at the point where your girl enters the bank until she goes into the Safe Deposit room, where cameras are not allowed. She spends less than five minutes within before the cameras pick her up again, when she returns the key and leaves. Redundant images are in file #2._

_-Peck_

Jaime clicked on the icon and set the window to full-screen. The video began with the camera trained on the entry doors, showing a high angle of the guard opening the door for the woman in the blue scarf. Though he couldn’t see either of their faces, Jaime was immediately reassured that the woman was his Sapphire. Her posture and gestures, the way she turned her head and inclined it to greet the guard, all sent his heart racing with recognition and yearning. 

From the body language of the guard when Sapphire walked out of frame the man was likely checking out her figure. Jaime had seldom seen such attentiveness from the man who had stood at those doors for the last dozen years. He didn’t need to guess that the object of his interest was Sapphire’s shapely bottom.

The video abruptly switched to her getting in the queue for a teller.  Peck had included shots from a few different cameras as she waited, but between the scarf covering most of her hair and her tendency to watch the ground, he couldn’t see her face. 

The next cut was a full, unobstructed view of her walking up to Moelle. _Bless Peck_ , Jaime thought. The video cycled through a few angles of her as she signed papers, showed ID (also not visible) and received the safe deposit key. Jaime got a glimpse of her fair hair falling over her forehead, the curve of her cheek – the one not usually covered by her mask - the graceful movement of her hands as she shifted her purse and accepted the key. Plenty of Moelle, too; her face, unfortunately, was perfectly visible.

A guard was called out to walk her to the Safe Deposit vault. It was Harle the Handsome, one of their younger guards. She barely looked at him, and Jaime found that oddly reassuring. He was still hoping she’d look into a camera, though. He needed to see that blue gaze somewhere besides his imagination, and having it on video would be an unexpected gift on this dull Monday. 

Sapphire entered the vault and a dark screen with white text flashed briefly: 5 Minutes in Vault. The video continued with her coming out of the secure room. Harle escorted her back to Moelle and Jaime got to relive the moment that he’d recognized her that morning, that erotic little shift of her hip that had sent him scurrying after her. 

The video ended with the guard holding the door open as Sapphire strode out. Jaime was grateful that Peck hadn’t included his mad dash across the bank to follow her. He hoped that Tyrion hadn’t gotten wind of his earlier pursuit, because it would have amused his little brother to no end. Tyrion would have someone editing it into a repeating loop immediately, complete with sound effects, as a novel new way to annoy him.

Jaime clicked on the second video and watched the images caught by the other cameras. Not a single frame of her face in any of them. _It’s like she **knows** where all the cameras are. Maybe she’s a bank robber in real life._

He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to talk himself down from the awkward boner that had developed about three seconds into watching the video. Even reciting boring Dornish poetry under his breath did little to calm the situation. He leaned forward again and sent the videos to his private email address, trying to put Sapphire and her bewitching hips from his thoughts. 

_I could always summon Moelle to my office on some pretext or other_. He imagined her entering and catching a glimpse of his tented trousers and laughed out loud. _Shame_ she’d say, followed by a few pious pronouncements regarding his blackened soul and obviously carnal leanings. Jaime was willing to bet the old vixen would stare just a little too long, though, as she heaped on the scorn. The thought of her eyes on him finally did the trick. Jaime felt the blood flee to somewhere safer in his body.

It was going on 3:30 already, and there was work to be done. If he could just concentrate for another half hour he could leave early and beat some of the traffic going home. If only it were Thursday already. If only Sapphire had consented to being his Paramour so that they could communicate during the week. _If only_ …

The half hour went by slowly. At just after four Jaime gathered his things to leave for the day. He stopped by Peck’s desk to thank him again for the video.

“Would you like me to send the file along to your personal email?”

“No need; I already did.” 

“Do you think she might have come in here just hoping to see you as well, Ser?”

“An interesting thought.” _Very interesting. Could she know?_ “But I doubt it. Most likely just a coincidence. Goodnight, Peck. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again for putting the video together for me.”

“Goodnight, Ser.”

*~*~*~

Tuesday began much like Monday, with Jaime at his desk thinking about Sapphire. The video, far from tiding him over until Thursday, had only increased his desire to see her. Not just at the club, though; seeing her in the everyday setting of the bank made him even more determined to have her in his life all of the time, and her baggy sweatpants were welcome to make a reappearance as well. 

The club was special, no question. There was a magic to seeing her in that environment, sexually charged and mysterious as it was. But his initial lust had increasingly given way to wishing for more mundane pleasures,  a life where they’d do all of those boring things most people took for granted, with tatty pajamas, runny noses, and arguments over which movie to watch together. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a call from Peck. He pressed the intercom button.

“Yes, Peck?”

“Uh, Mr. Lannister, Ser? There’s a gentleman here to see you and he, um, he won’t state his business?”

“Send him away.” 

Jaime’s finger was poised over the disconnect button when Peck spoke again, “He says you know him, Ser. He won’t give me a sername. Er,” Peck paused and Jaime heard him speaking to someone, “Correction - he says he doesn’t _have_ one. He just goes by Olyvar, Ser.”

Olyvar…? Oh. _Olyvar_. From Ellaria Sand’s office. “You can send him in Peck. No interruptions, please.”

Jaime came round his desk to wait. Why would Olyvar be here? Had Ellaria found out he was trying to skirt the rules with Sapphire? Was he going to be terminated from the club? _Gods, what if Sapphire reported me and Olyvar’s here to tell me I can’t see her again_?

The door opened and the slight blond man he remembered walked in, smiling widely. Jaime could well imagine Peck’s discomfort; Olyvar was flamboyantly dressed, his skintight, patterned leggings leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, along with a faux fur vest layered over a red silk shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel. A small satchel hung from his left shoulder.

“Olyvar. How nice to see you again.” Jaime held out his hand and Olyvar put his in it and gave a gentle squeeze. Oddly, It seemed more natural to kiss that soft hand than shake it, but Jaime just returned the slight pressure and let go, gesturing to the chair before his desk.

“Mr. Lannister. A delight to see you again.” Olyvar hung his purse from the backrest and sat down while Jaime returned to his own chair.

“And how is Madame Sand?” Jaime asked, “I assume that you are here on her behalf?”

“Oh, Ellaria is very well, thank you. Very busy, as usual, or she might have come herself.”

Jaime tried to hide his alarm. “Is there a problem? With the club, I mean?”

“Gracious, no. Everything is just fine.” Olyvar crossed his legs and continued to smile, his eyes frankly appraising Jaime’s face and form and not finding him wanting in any respect.

“Is this just a social call then? Is there some blood test I need to take, or are you conducting a customer satisfaction survey or something?”

Olyvar chuckled. “A satisfaction survey? I certainly hope you’ve been satisfied, Leo.” He gave him a knowing look. 

_Lannisters do not blush_. Jaime blushed. “Quite.”

Olyvar looked about to wink, but instead leaned forward and put his palms on the desk. “I’m here about Sapphire.”

“What about her? Is she okay? Nothing’s happened, has it?”

“Why, she’s just fine that I know of.” Olyvar tilted his head, “I say, it’s rather touching that you should be so concerned for her.” He twisted to take a small blue envelope from his bag and slid it across the desk to Jaime. “This is not the usual thing we allow, but Ellaria has made an exception.”

Jaime tried not to grab at the envelope, and used great restraint in finding a letter opener rather than tearing it open. He slit the top and took out a folded piece of stationary, opening it to find an elegantly handwritten note:

Dearest Leo,

I’m writing to humbly request that you consider becoming my Paramour for the rest of the Season, beginning this Thursday evening.

I think of you often and hope you are well. 

Sincerely,

Sapphire 

Jaime read the short letter half a dozen times before looking across at Olyvar. “She wrote this?”

“She dropped it off yesterday after clearing it with Ellaria over the phone.”

“She’s asking to be my Paramour,” he said wonderingly.

“Actually, she phoned Ellaria early Sunday and asked if she could send you a ‘yes’ to your earlier request,” Olyvar confided. “Ellaria told her that if she really wanted to be your Paramour that she needed to ask you to be hers.”

“Requests,” murmured Jaime. 

“Pardon?”

“’ _Requests_ ,’ plural. I asked her more than once.” He laid the note down and ran his fingers over the paper, the words she’d written. When he looked back up Olyvar’s brows quirked. “My answer is ‘yes,’ of course. What’s the procedure for letting her know?”

“My, you are quite smitten, aren’t you?” Olyvar clasped his hands and rested his chin on them, fluttering his eyelashes in a seemingly sincere expression of delight. 

“Of course I am. Sapphire is…is…” He grinned, “Well, she’s everything. Are you going to see her next to tell her I agreed to her request? Can I send her something, maybe a small token, later, or do I need to wait until next week? That’s one of the perks, right? Communicating during the week?”

“Well, first things first, Leo. I need a handwritten note from you. Madame Sand needs to approve it before I can deliver it.”

“Of course. A note.” Jaime opened his desk drawer and began rummaging for stationary.

“That won’t do. I imagine you’ve only got Casterly Bank letterhead in there. I’ve brought paper for your reply.”

“Oh. You’re right, of course.” Jaime shut the drawer. “Will you be the one to see her? Are you taking it to her at work or at home?”

“I can’t tell you where it will be delivered, of course. But I hope to be the one to take it. If she’s half as delighted as you are it will make my day. La, romance!” Olyvar rolled the ‘r’ in ‘romance’ and flipped his hair back dramatically.

“I shall hope for both those things, then.” Jaime laughed, “That you can take it to her, and that she will be even half as happy as I am.” He felt caught up in Olyvar’s untrammeled enthusiasm for the match. “How can I send her something else? What can I send?”

“Well, as to that, I have some paperwork for you to read. Basically it can be nothing that reveals your identity. Anonymity must still be strictly maintained. Large gifts aren’t allowed, as a courier will need to deliver whatever you’ve sent. There is also a limit of one weekly delivery each.”

“Just one? Could I pay more to send –” Jaime’s mind was awhirl with thoughts of sending her notes and trinkets during the week, staying connected to her in some way.

“No, Ser. The policy is there to ensure neither party is overwhelmed and to maintain anticipation for Club Night. Exceptions are only made in cases of emergency, such as one party needing to miss a session.”

“What if someone does have to miss a session? What then?”

“Usually the other Paramour gets permission from their partner to take another lover for that week. Unless they’ve already agreed in advance.” Olyvar leaned forward conspiratorially, “You know, at first I thought it was silly that you’d need permission if your Paramour skipped a night, but that was before I knew how much people get off on needing permission.”

“Oh.” Jaime could hardly think what to say. He’d assumed that he’d never have to endure Sapphire having sex with another man at the club if they were Paramours.  

Olyvar, misreading his expression, went on. “Lots of Paramour couples include other members _during_ their sessions, of course. It adds a little spice, having someone else, or _several_ someone elses, fuck your partner while you watch.”

“I see.” Jaime plucked a pen from the organizer on his desk, “I’ll just write that letter now, shall I?” He held his hand out and Olyvar handed over a pink-tinted sheet of paper with the Club Sand logo. He set it on the desk blotter and began to write.

My Dear Sapphire,

As he puzzled over what to write next, Olyvar reminisced, “I remember this one time – well, you know I’m an employee, so I get to take requests, right? Well, this one time there was a couple that organized what they were calling a ‘suck in,’ and so we daisy-chained like, a dozen –”

“I’m sorry, Olyvar, but I need to concentrate to write.” 

“Of course. But can I just tell you, it was really something. Talk about _customer satisfaction_ …”

Jaime didn’t want to risk alienating the man who would deliver his letter to Sapphire, but he gave Olyvar a severe look and raised his eyebrows. Anyone else would have been directed to leave his office immediately. Olyvar, clearly warming to his subject, looked disappointed.

My Dear Sapphire,

“You know, Leo, when this Season is over, if you’d like to try Tuesdays, I could show you –”

“Enough.” Jaime said, glaring. “I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside with my assistant.”

“Oh, sorry. Are you one of those, what do you call it, dys-sexics? That have trouble with reading and writing?” Jaime’s expression became more forbidding. “I’ll just step outside then.” Olyvar said meekly and left.

My Dear Sapphire,

Yes. A thousand times, yes. I can’t wait to see you again. You’re all I think about.

Was that too desperate? Well, no remedy for it now, as he was writing in ink and wasn’t about to ask Olyvar Over-sharer for more paper. May as well go all in.

Thursday seems so far away. I’m going to send you something through the club. Don’t worry about sending anything to me. Unless you want to. If there’s time. Hells, just knowing I get to see you in just over 50 hours is enough. 

Yours,

Leo

He looked over the letter critically. Compared to her brief, beautifully written letter, his looked like a schoolyard mash note. He folded the paper neatly and buzzed Peck to send Olyvar back in. 

“Yes, Ser.” Peck sounded relieved.

Olyvar opened the door, still looking back over his shoulder at Jaime’s assistant. “You’re absolutely certain, then?”  If Peck said anything in response, Jaime didn’t hear it. Olyvar shrugged and turned his attention to the paper Jaime was holding out. He took it, unfolded it, and read the contents. “Oh, she should love that. I would.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jaime remarked drily. “You have some papers for me?”

Olyvar lifted his purse from the chair back, removed a plain brown envelope and handed it to him. “You should have the basic rules about Paramours in the original paperwork that Madame Sand gave you. This just provides a bit more detail and outlines the ‘perks.’”

“Thank you. Does this say whom to contact when I want to send something to Sapphire?” 

“I believe so, but generally you just call the office. Be sure to allow time for a courier if you’re not coming by to drop something off.” 

“Thank you, Olyvar. I appreciate your coming by with the message.” 

“Oh, it was my pleasure. I really should be going; I have a G-string to deliver to a patron and I can’t wait to see his face.”

“You get to see what people send to each other? They’re not wrapped?”

“Oh, generally they are,” Olyvar reassured him, “But this was a special request that I arrive wearing it. Ta!” And with that, he turned smartly and left. 

Jaime had barely sat down again when Peck poked his head in the door. “Ser?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Lannister, but would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“No. Come in and sit down.”

Peck closed the door and sat in the chair Olyvar had vacated. Jaime looked at him expectantly, but it took a few moments of fidgeting before he worked up the courage to speak. “Ser, do I look…well, not manly to you?”

Stifling a laugh, Jaime put on a serious expression. “Has something caused you to question your sexuality recently?”

“Well, no Ser, not as such. But that fellow, Olyvar…”

“Yes? You found him attractive, did you?”

“ _No_! Ser, no, honestly. But he seemed to be attracted to _me_. When he first got here he was looking me over like a side of beef, Ser, and it made me rather uncomfortable. I like girls, er, women, Ser.”

“I see. And because Olyvar, who obviously is attracted to men, showed an interest in you, you’re concerned?”

“It’s just that when he came back out of your office that first time, he asked for my number, Ser. When I told him I wasn’t interested he acted like I must be joking. I thought of giving him a fake number, and then I remembered that lots of women do that when they get hit on, don’t they?”

“And you felt a little violated.” 

“He was kind of pushy, Ser. He kept asking. So I started to worry that maybe I was sending out signals.” Peck was blushing by this time and he took a deep breath before blurting out, “Honestly, I don’t think I even have signals like that!”

Jaime was about to reassure Peck when Tyrion knocked on the partially open door and stepped inside. “Was that Olyvar I just saw?”

“Yes.” Peck answered.

“Young Peck here was just telling me that Olyvar asked him out just now. He’s a little concerned.”

Tyrion grinned. “I wouldn’t worry, kid, Olyvar would hit on a brick if it had a dick. Where did he want to take you?”

“Er, he didn’t say, Mr. Tyrion. I didn’t get the idea it involved dinner and a movie, Ser.”

“See? That’s where he went wrong. He should have wooed you first.”

“Enough, Tyrion. The lad’s already traumatized.”

“He could have sent you flowers, asked to meet your dad…”

“ _Tyrion_.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Tyrion reached up and put his hand on Peck’s shoulder, “Go on back to work, Heartbreaker, I have things to discuss with my brother.”

“Yes, Ser.” Peck got out of the chair and went out the door without another word.

Tyrion hopped in the chair and pulled up on the lever to lower it, then kicked the ground hard to make it higher. “So. Olyvar. How about those pants, huh? I can see why your assistant was a bit alarmed. They were so snug I think even his pubic hairs might have been individually visible.”

“Given his job, do you really think he has any?”

“You’re right. He probably waxes. Did you happen to see what the pattern was on his pants?”

“No idea,” Jaime admitted. “I wasn’t looking too closely.” 

“It was stick figures in various sexual positions. I only know because Tysha has something like them, only hers have both sexes.”

“Good to know.”

“They’re cute on her, though.”

“I’m sure someone finds them cute on Olyvar, too.” Jaime picked up his note from Sapphire and leaned across the desk to offer it to Tyrion. “I know you’re going to ask: this is why Olyvar came by to see me.” 

Tyrion scanned the note, a smile spreading across his uneven features. “I take it this is good news?”

“Yes, excellent news. I was starting to worry that I’d lost my charm.”

“I’m not sure you had any to begin with. Sapphire must think so, though.”

“I hope she does, Tyrion. I’m really crazy about her. Maybe this means she’ll finally agree to see me outside the club.”

“Whoa, pull up on the reins there, Jaime. You asked her to see you away from the club?”

“Yes. To go out with me for coffee.”

“Putting aside that you asked someone you’ve been having anonymous kinky sex with to meet your for _coffee_ , you do know that it’s forbidden?”

“It’s been pointed out to me. Sapphire isn’t the sort to break the rules, but I don’t think that’s the only thing holding her back. I think she’s also afraid that what we have at the club won’t survive getting together in real life.”

“She’s a lot brighter than you, then. You signed an agreement, Jaime. You joined because it’s anonymous. You don’t even know who this girl _is_. She doesn’t know who _you_ are.”

“I couldn’t care less about the fucking rules, Tyrion. I don’t care about the club, either. I just want her.”

“Jaime, Jaime, Jaime. Don’t do this to yourself, brother. Maybe you don’t care about the scandal if the press found out you belonged to a bondage club, or what our father would say. But falling for someone you barely know – what’s it been, three weeks?” Tyrion pushed the letter back across the desk. “Do yourself a good turn and enjoy the rest of the Season and stick to seeing her at the club.”

“I expected you to be happy for me.” Jaime put the letter in his desk drawer, “I’ve found somebody that I know I can be happy with. Who cares how I met her? A couple weeks ago you were encouraging me to go to tattoo parlors looking for information on her.”

“Which I knew would lead nowhere. I can’t stand to see your heart get broken again. You were a morose little pain in the ass for years after Cersei married Robert. Can’t you just find a nice, normal woman and, oh, I don’t know, _date_ her?”

Jaime tried to hide his annoyance, but his words came out clipped and angry. “Have you forgotten that I dated several _normal_ women not that long ago? Did you see me fall for any of them?”

“Well, no,” Tyrion conceded, “But you barely gave any of them a chance.”

“I didn’t have to. I don’t want just anybody. I want Sapphire.”

“Let me ask you this: is this a case of your cock controlling your heart? The kind of sex you get at the club, I know it gets pretty intense. You go into it and Dominate someone, you start to feel a sort of ownership over them, not to mention a sense of responsibility, with all that caretaking afterwards. It can fool you into thinking that your feelings are deeper than they are.”

Jaime glared at his brother a moment, thinking about what he’d said, pushing it around in his mind to see if any of it rang true. “I can see your point, Tyrion. But that isn’t it, and I’m not her Dom. Not the way you mean.”

Tyrion sat up, his eyes alight with interest. “She’s the Domme, then? I never even thought of you being into submission, but now that I think of it, Cersei –“

“Don’t you _dare_.” Jaime hissed. “I realize now that Cersei had all of the control in our relationship, though I can assure you – not that it’s any of your damn business – she was _not_ in charge in the bedroom.” Jaime pushed his hair back roughly, frustrated by his inability to make his brother understand. “Sapphire and I, it’s not the way you think. We neither of us are a true Top or bottom, but it turns out that we like to take turns playing those roles.”

“So she does get to tie you up and have her way with you.”

“Fuck you, Tyrion. You always just pull one thread out of what I’ve said for your prurient enjoyment. We balance each other. We take care of each other.”

“Sexually. It’s still thinking with your prick, Jaime. What happens if you get together and you wake up one morning and realize that the spark ignited by the club is gone?”

“It won’t be. She is -” Here Jaime allowed himself a goofy grin, not caring if Tyrion mocked him for it, “She’s intelligent, and funny. Sophisticated, caring, gentle, sexy…”  

“And beautiful, of course.” Tyrion offered.

“No. She’s not beautiful, not in any traditional sense. Fuck, to be painfully honest, she’s not even pretty, and it pains me to say something that sounds so negative about her. I doubt I’d have given her a second look if I’d passed her on the street. Looking into her eyes would have done for me, but what would be the chances of that happening? There’s something else about her, though, that caught my interest at the club. Maybe her height and her figure, but I believe it was more than that. She was the only one I noticed, from the first. Have you ever experienced that?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Not even with Tysha? A sense of destiny, maybe?”

“I don’t really believe in such things, Jaime. I fell for Tysha, and I love her. But it didn’t happen right away. You can’t tell me that you love this Sapphire, either. Not after so little time with her.” Tyrion watched his brother for a second, unsure if he was looking for proof or a denial. “You can admit that you’re just infatuated at this stage, right?”

Jaime smiled crookedly and shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t say I’m _not_ in love with her, if that’s what you want. As to whether I am, I only know that I’ve never felt this way before. If it isn’t love, then I don’t have a name for it.”

“You are so going to get your heart broken, Jaime. I’ll stock up on whisky for the man cave. Don’t you worry; Dr. Tyrion will be ready to help.”

“Maybe you’ll be serving it to both of us, ever thought of that?”

“I’d forgotten. This girl likes whisky too, doesn’t she? Hard for any other woman to compete with that.”

“Glad you finally understand. Just now I could really use your help in figuring out what to send her before Thursday. Any ideas?”

“Roses? One long-stemmed rose? If she’s tall, she must have some pretty long stems herself.”

“Cute, but it needs to be about more than her physical attributes.”

“Which means edible underwear are out. Unless, is there such a thing as whisky flavored underwear? You could lick them off of her.”

“Whisky underwear?”

“I was joking. Nobody in their right mind wants whisky underwear. I bet that stuff stings like crazy down there.”

“Yeah, it actually does.” Jaime murmured, still smiling. “But you’ve given me an idea. I’m going to send her whisky.”

“How original.”

“Not just a bottle of whisky, Tyrion. Enough for a glass. A very special whisky and instructions to drink it at a certain time tomorrow night. So we can toast each other.”

“That’s your idea? Really?”

“Yes. I don’t expect you to understand, and she probably won’t either, but if nothing else she’ll find it romantic.”

“If any woman finds that romantic then she might just be the one for you. Tysha would clobber me if I sent her a glass of alcohol. She already thinks I drink too much.”

“You do.”

“And your point is?”

“On the top of your pointy little gnome hat. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. Don’t tease Peck on the way out, okay?”

“Sure. Oh, I was going to ask – can I borrow Peck in the next few days? I had another personal assistant quit and I need someone to make a few travel arrangements for me.”

“Can’t you do that for yourself? You have heard of the internet? Huge, useful resource right at your fingertips?”

“You’re a riot. If it’s not porn I probably can’t find it. Can I borrow him or not?”

“As long as it’s alright with him. Now get out.”

*~*~*~

By Thursday afternoon Jaime had received no further communication from the club regarding Sapphire, beyond confirming that she had received his answer to her request and also the miniature carafe of whisky he’d sent on Wednesday. 

He realized that there’d been no time for her to send him anything in return, but when the work day had drawn to a close with no word he’d been uneasy and grumpy. The drive home had seen his temper rising further as he muttered to himself about the traffic and where he’d like to see most of the driver’s around him spend the rest of eternity.

At home he’d trimmed his beard back to a sparse stubble, showered, and put on his usual black briefs with the tan pants and black shirt he’d picked out earlier in the week. So far he’d only worn clothes to the club that he’d feel comfortable in almost anywhere. Jaime supposed he should find out from Sapphire if she’d like him to wear something more fetish-y. She’d seemed to like the leather harness he’d tried out on their first night together, but he found the more comfortable he was with her, the more ridiculous he felt presenting himself as a typical bondage club member. The last thing he needed was to come off as a creeper like Dog.

With a final look in the big mirror and a last minute attempt to adjust his cock, riding as usual a bit to the right, in the tight pants (were they just a little too revealing? Memories of Olyvar’s bits outlined by tight leggings made him shudder), and he was out the door with his keys and mask.

Once on the road to The Sand the anticipation of seeing Sapphire again overcame any lingering moodiness. He’d left early to avoid a repeat of the previous week, when he’d arrived to find Dog touching Sapphire’s mask, his body language far too intimate and aggressive. Another ten minutes might have resulted in her accepting Ellaria’s invitation to participate with him in the stage demo…

 _No, she wouldn’t have_ , he reassured himself. _Would she_? The thought of Dog driving that club he called a cock into her had him driving even faster. 

The road up the hill to the club was bare of cars, and as he pulled up to the valet station it seemed deserted. _Is this the wrong night_? He killed the engine and looked around. A uniformed man ran at speed around the corner, tugging up on the zipper of his trousers. Jaime grinned. _Taking a piss or having a shag_? He got out of his car and walked to the entrance, tossing his keys to the fellow, who caught them on the run.

“Sorry, Ser!” the valet gasped, “You’re a bit early!”

Jaime waved and went inside. He really must be early. As always, there were plenty of club employees hanging about, but he saw no other members. He headed straight for the concierge desk.

“Good evening. I’d like to check on the arrangements I’ve made for tonight.”

The nearly nude woman at the desk was not caught off guard as the valet had been. Even her exposed nipples, peeking out from her uniform suspenders, were alert and ready for the evening. “Yes, Ser.” She began typing on the keyboard. “Your room is prepared, and room service is…” she checked the screen and looked up through her lashes at Jaime, smiling, “All set for delivery forty five minutes after the first use of your keycard. Your Paramour documents are all in order, Leo, should you or Sapphire need anything else special this evening. Would you like the keycards now?”

“I would. Thank you.”

She handed them to him and he took himself off to the bar. He hoped that Sapphire would also be early, but in case he had a long wait he knew a drink in his hand would keep him from fidgeting in the meantime. He accepted the bartender’s suggestion of a twenty-five year old Tourmaline single malt and carried his glass over to the stage, curious to see it before the night’s lessons. 

The ubiquitous bed was in place, satin bedclothes draped over it like a sheet of black ice. The head and footboard looked interesting, designed as they were to accommodate a variety of restraints. Jaime noticed some sliding panels and electrical outlets and mounted the steps to check them out.

He looked around for anyone watching him before opening the first panel. The space behind it fairly shallow with an assortment of ball gags hanging from small hooks. He closed the slider and opened the next. Nipple rings. Probably. A couple had curved spikes radiating from the clamp that, while blunted, looked truly uncomfortable. Some seemed a bit oversized, even for the more buxom ladies. Belatedly realizing those were probably intended to be attached to the head of a penis, he winced and shut that compartment as well.

The next one looked relatively benign.  A small vase held at least a dozen glass swizzle sticks in a rainbow of colors. They had a braided looked to them, like the poles carousel ponies rose up and down on. The smallest was about the diameter of an oil dipstick, the largest closer to that of a screwdriver.  Next to these a larger vase held some curved metal sticks, but these had rings or coiled wire near the top. 

Thinking he’d happened on an after-hours drink-mixing cabinet, he was wondering if the next cabinet contained highball glasses or shakers when a voice behind him said, “Interesting, aren’t they?”

Jaime jumped, sloshing his whisky, and turned guiltily. Garnet, the pretty flame-haired employee, smiled at him. 

“I’m sorry. No one was here yet, so I figured I’d kill some time.”

“No worries, Leo.” Garnet reached in and picked up the glass with the colored swizzle sticks. She picked out a peppermint striped one and held it out to him. “Have you ever tried one of these?”

“Sure. Who hasn’t?” He took the object and ran his thumb along the bumpy surface.

Garnet raised her eyebrows. “Several people that I can think of, offhand.”

“They’re pretty popular when my father hosts parties. That and the frilly umbrellas.”

“Frilly umbrellas? How do those work?”

Jaime was beginning to suspect they weren’t on the same page. Possibly not on the same planet. “You put them in mixed drinks? I guess you might say they’re more like little paper parasols, though my father has some more ornate ones that he insists are ‘streampunk.”

Garnet laughed. These are urethral sounds, Leo.”

“Pardon?”

“Also called urethral dilators or stretchers. They’re inserted into the head of the penis.” She set the glass back in the cabinet, but took the largest stick out. Coiling her fingers and thumb into a tight fist, she pushed the purple glass into the narrow hole she’d formed. “Care must be taken, but some men find they enjoy stimulating the nerves _within_ the cock,” she slowly twirled the stick until it extended out past her clenched hand, a bare inch still visible at the top.

Jaime blanched and shook his head in horror as he put the festive looking green and white stick back in the glass. “I can see that I have mistaken these for something else entirely.” He looked at the stick in her fist, fairly certain that if his cock were confronted with such an object it would shrink in terror. “I imagine the larger ones like that are for the more experienced, uh, sounders?”

“Not necessarily. They’re actually safer than the thin ones, which carry a risk of piercing the urethra. Sometimes they’re used to stretch the skin of the glans in order to pierce it on purpose, but that’s different from making an accidental tear.” She put the purple stick back with the others. “The metal dilators are really next level, though.” She picked out one with a hoop at the top and showed it to her reluctant audience of one. “See how this one is hollow? A man can pee or come while wearing this one.”

“Like a catheter. And the ring at the top?” Jaime asked gamely, thinking at the least he knew what kind of gag gift he’d be getting Tyrion for Winterfest.

Garnet winked, “Wouldn’t want it to get lost in there, right? One could attach a leash to it as well, I suppose.”

“Well. I guess I learned something new tonight. Will they be used in the demo?”

“No. These are here for one of the other sessions. Things get a little more hardcore then. If you hadn’t been up here snooping you’d never know they existed.” Garnet slid the door to the cabinet closed. “I’d have loved to see your reaction had you looked in the cabinet on the far left. But that’s a mystery for another time, right?”

“I’ve learned my lesson.” Jaime promised. “I think I’m just going to go and…reassure my cock somehow that I’ll never let one of those near it.” He gave Garnet a rueful smile and headed for the steps. “Oh, and I should probably clarify: we’ve never used those at family gatherings after all.”  He walked away to the sound of her laughter.

While he’d been on stage more members had arrived, and he was passing a small knot of women when one called his name and beckoned him over.

“We saw you talking to Garnet on the stage,” she said, “Does this mean you’ll be in tonight’s demo?” 

Looking around at their excited faces he almost hated to disappoint them. “Sorry, ladies. Not tonight.”

A chorus of dismayed groans followed. “We were so hoping, Leo,” the first woman whined, twirling a lock of heavily processed hair around her finger. “All of us were saying that we couldn’t wait to see what it takes to make a lion roar.”

Jaime thought of the swizzle sticks, a fate far worse than the proverbial thorn in a lion’s paw.  Roaring would be the least of what they heard. “It seems to me I’ve seen at least one other person here sporting a lion’s mane,” he told them, “Perhaps if you went and tugged on his tail he’d roar for you.” A few of the women giggled, and one walked around behind him, looking for his tail. She looked a long time, but eventually gave it up. 

“That other lion is okaaaay, I suppose?” a woman dressed like a schoolgirl in knee socks and a short skirt allowed, “But he’s not really king of the beasts like you are?”

“Brave Heart?” someone scoffed, “The one with the Share Bears fetish? He’s one plush away from being a furry, Animae.”

“And he’s so _orange_.”

“Not golden like you, Leo.”

“We could be your pride.” 

“We could make you roar.”

“Maybe he’d rather purr for us?”

“You know, I heard Dog was going to be in tonight’s demo.” 

“Oh! I wouldn’t mind making him growl.” 

“Yum.” 

“Woof.”

A ripple of giggles ran through the group of women.

“I don’t know, girls. His dick scares me a little.”

“I don’t think ‘little’ is the word you’re looking for with him.”

They fell to giggling again, but Jaime wasn’t paying attention. The room was filling up and all he wanted to do was find Sapphire and get away from silly women and faux swizzle sticks. He scanned the room again; she shouldn’t be difficult to spot, standing taller than most of the other men and women there. 

“Don’t you find that’s so, Leo?” A very thin, black-clad woman was looking up at him expectantly. 

Jaime looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite hear you.” The woman was wearing a molded white mask with heavily outlined eyeholes surrounded by three-inch-long spiky eyelashes. Her actual eyes were similarly lined and lashed. He hoped she wasn’t planning to bat them at him. He looked over at the couches in case Sapphire had come in and was sitting down.

“… _hahaha_ , don’t you think?” 

He’d missed the woman’s question again. “Oh, I’m not so certain about that,” he said, smiling, “I might need more information.” It seemed a safe enough answer.

“Well, I can deep-throat _at least_ eight inches. So would you be easy or _hard_?” 

“Er…I’m someone’s Paramour,” he said.

“She can watch. Or write you a permission note.” She smiled and fluttered her eyes. Jaime fancied he could feel the breeze blow back his hair.

“She’s a little possessive.” _I hope_.

The woman shrugged and looked away, sipping her drink through a straw with a pink penis-shaped tip. Spotting a more likely candidate for her game of twenty-odd questions, she touched his sleeve in farewell and walked away, passing a group that included Rose as she went.

“Excuse me.” Jaime muttered to the women around him, who had gone on to discuss the mechanics of sex between furries. He walked toward Rose, who saw him coming and met him halfway.

“Rose. How are you?”

“I’m told I’m pretty good, actually.” Sapphire’s friend smiled up at him, “And you?”

“Same. “ Jaime laughed briefly. “I didn’t see Sapphire come in with you. Is she here somewhere?”

 “She decided to drive herself this evening.”

“Oh? You usually drive then?”

“Yes, but I think she was a little embarrassed that I had to wait for her at the end of session last week.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Jaime smirked. 

 “But you’re not really sorry, are you?” Rose tilted her head at him.

 “Not really, no.”

 “I thought not.” Rose smiled, but there wasn’t much friendliness in it. “You know, Sapphire sometimes does things that are uncharacteristically bold, especially since she joined the club.”

Jaime thought of Sapphire’s blushes, the combination of bold and bashful that so charmed him. “I can tell that about her.”

“But I think you need to understand that she hasn’t quite mastered the art of living with her actions afterwards.” She gave him a pointed look.

“I hope she’s not regretting – “Jaime glanced at the entryway again, worried, “You don’t think she’s regretting becoming my Paramour, do you? You do know about that, don’t you?”

“Yes. Had Br- _Sapphire_ not told me, I’d have known just by looking at you.”

“Oh? How?” 

“Just your air of anticipation, and maybe a hint of, oh, I don’t know, satisfaction? Something in your eyes, for sure. I’d hazard a guess that every woman in the room, and a couple of the more adventurous men, has picked up on it.” Rose gave him a searching look. “I noticed that you were quite surrounded by admirers when I came in.”

“I didn’t encourage them.”

“You wouldn’t have to. Do treat Sapphire right, won’t you?” Rose gave him a more genuine smile, but the warning behind her words was clear.

“My intentions are entirely honorable, I assure you.”

“Honorable, Leo? Honestly?”

“Yes, honorable,” Jaime told her, reassured by her suddenly playful tone. “This isn’t ancient Westeros; her virtue may not be safe with me, but I promise that I will treat her with better than modern chivalry. Does that help?”

Rose looked doubtful. “She’s my closest friend, and I got her into this. I don’t want her to end up getting hurt.”

“And you’re protective of her. I wish you wouldn’t worry, Rose. I’m not about to -” Jaime caught sight of Sapphire as she finally entered the room. 

Words and thought fled as she looked around for him, her big blue eyes anxious. Then she saw him, or them, and her smile of happiness… If smiles could be compared to wattage, then Jaime was certain that hers could light a small village. She tried briefly to suppress it, to lessen the expanse of large white teeth by closing her lips over them, but she failed in this utterly upon seeing his answering grin. Jaime thought they could probably sell current to the power company, such was the electricity between them.

He glanced to his side to make sure Rose saw how happy her friend was, but she’d gone. In that moment of standing alone watching Sapphire walk toward him he felt giddy, nervous, ecstatic, and he began to wonder if this was how a bridegroom felt, waiting at the altar for the love of his life.

And there it was again; no word other than _love_ could describe it, and while he might not be able to say it out loud to her or admit it to Tyrion, the word itself, whole and complete and undeniable, echoed through him with each step that brought her closer. 

Unable to wait the few seconds until she’d gotten to him, he rushed forward as soon as she was clear of the other members milling about. Surprising both of them at the instant they came together, he crouched to wrap his arms around her hips and lift her, swinging her up in a quarter turn. Or perhaps a bit less. In all the movies he’d ever seen, this particular greeting went off a great deal smoother than it did in real life. 

The strength in his arms and legs was more than equal to the task, but after a surprised squeal from Sapphire she began struggling like a cat, pushing her hands against his shoulders in a sudden panic. Jaime held tight.

“I’ve got you,” he laughed. “Relax, sweetling.”

She ceased struggling, but went stiff with tension instead, looking down at him in alarm. “I’m too heavy…” 

Jaime jounced her a bit higher and positioned his arms under her bottom, holding her securely. He tilted his head far back to look up at her. “You certainly are not. Don’t make me parade you around the room like this to prove it, because I can and I will.”

Sapphire made a noise between a snort and a laugh. “Leo, no! Please don’t.”

“Give me one good reason why I should let you go.” Now that she’d stopped flailing he was enjoying her weight in his arms and the kindling amusement in her eyes. 

“You’ll put me down if you want the kiss I was about to bestow before you hoisted me like a sack of cement.” 

“Oh, you can still kiss me. I’ll just lower you a bit -” He loosened his arms, letting her slide down several inches, and puckered his lips.

“ _One_ kiss, and then you set me down.” She kissed him chastely. “Now, _down_.”

Jaime let her slide through his arms to the floor, the silken material of her dress rising up her thighs as he did so. When her feet touched the ground he released her only long enough for the fabric to drop back into place before that kiss was replaced by one far more passionate. With one hand cupping his jaw and the other in his hair, she melted against him as he held her close, the feel of her in his arms after a week apart making him hum with pleasure.  

When, at length, they paused for air, he glanced quickly down at her feet. “You’re wearing flats,” he remarked. 

“Can’t drive in heels.” She shrugged. 

“We’re a perfect fit this way,” he said, resting his hands on her hips.

“I know.” She wrapped her fingers around his own, narrower, hips and pulled him closer until she felt the evidence of his erection pressing against her. She smirked at his beleaguered grunt and lowered her head the scant distance needed to whisper in his ear, “I’ve missed you, too.”

 

“I missed you more, I’m sure. Thank you for asking me to be your Paramour. I think you can guess how much that meant to me.”

“I – before you say anything else, Leo, I need to tell you the truth of that.”

Jaime’s heart skittered to a near halt, while his ability to breathe was lost altogether. He nodded for her to go on.

“On Sunday, I called Madame Sand. I wanted to ask her if I could send you a ‘yes,’ only that, in answer to you asking me.”

Jaime’s heart began beating again. “Go on.”

“Ellaria told me she wouldn’t allow that, but she said I _could_ ask you to be my Paramour. So I did.”

“What made you decide you couldn’t wait until tonight to give me a ‘yes’?”

Sapphire pulled her lower lip between her teeth while she considered her answer. “I finally realized that you might give up on me and stop asking.”

“I might have, if I’d had enough sense to worry about driving you away by pestering you about it.”

“Oh.” She shook her head, “That isn’t what I meant. I started worrying that you’d decide to partner with someone else.” She took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to risk that.”

“I wouldn’t have.” Jaime reassured her, though his relief was tempered by her admission. Wanting to keep him all to herself was flattering, but it was no indication of deeper feelings for him.

“But…” She took a step back and he saw that she was nervous. “I also…I mean, making a commitment to being together, just for the time we have left? I realized that I wanted that, too. No, that isn’t quite right either.” She took a shaky breath, visibly trying to be calm.  “I’m sorry. It’s difficult for me to talk about this, Leo.”

“It’s alright, Sapphire. You don’t have to.”

“I do. I need to tell you. It would be selfish not to. I decided…” Her voice strained with emotion as she rushed on, “that even though it’s scary how much you make me feel, and even knowing when this is all over that my life won’t ever be the same, that I still want _this_.” She gestured vaguely with her hand. “I want _you_.” 

The last three words were nearly too soft to hear, but he read them on her lips, saw them in her eyes. _I want you_. Sweet words for the bedroom, but here, in the impersonal space of the ballroom, they meant even more. Whatever her desire for him when they were alone, she was speaking now of more than the pleasure they'd found in each other’s bodies. 

He wanted to tell her she was right; that neither of their lives would ever be the same, but not in the way she thought. He wasn’t going to accept any set expiration date; nothing could make him give her up, so long as she wanted him. But for now let her believe that this, the Club, was all they’d have. There’d be time enough to convince her otherwise.

“Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.” He hugged her and she nestled her face against his shoulder, the feathers of her mask tickling his neck. 

He was about to coax her into another kiss when Ellaria’s voice carried to them over the speaker system. “Welcome, members. Please assemble for tonight’s demo, which will begin in five minutes.” 

The noise level in the room rose, and Jaime looked around at the other patrons, noticing with surprise how many of them were discretely watching him and Sapphire. Expressions of envy, approval, even sadness, were quickly masked as people turned their attention back to their partners and the night ahead. Connections would be made here by many of them; trust and surrender and sexual satisfaction, but Jaime knew that he and Sapphire had something that most of them would never find in this place. 

Sapphire sighed. “Would you mind terribly skipping the demonstration? I find the only person I want to see naked tonight is you.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that. I already have the keycards for our room.”

“Really? I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Perks. I also have room service bringing something up later.” Jaime smirked at her, “Besides, I got here early because I didn’t want to have to beat Dog off you with a stick this time.”

“Poor Doog. I suppose now that I’ve decided to keep you on as my Paramour he’ll have to find someone else to take him for walkies.”

Jaime chuckled. “I wouldn’t feel too badly for him. I hear he’s going to be in tonight’s demo as well.”

“That explains why you were so willing to skip it.” Sapphire turned to look at the darkened stage. “Do you know what he was going to be doing up there?”

“He’ll probably just do some push-ups with his Hodor. Don’t tell me you’ve decided you want to watch?” Jaime smiled, but having to sit with Sapphire and watch Dog and his monstrous cock in action wasn’t on his agenda. He hoped she felt the same.

There was a puzzled look on her face. “How would that work? Would he be able to use one arm and his cock, or just his cock?”

“It was a joke, Sapphire. I didn’t mean to put the image in your head.”

“But now that it’s there…”

“I see an empty couch over there if you really want to watch.” Jaime said, “But if they make him do push-ups, lift weights, or pole vault with that thing I’m going up to the room without you.”

“Do you remember when I said the only person I want to see naked tonight is you?”

“No. Tell me again.”

Sapphire put her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “I don’t just want to see you naked, Leo. I _need_ to see you naked.” She leaned back to watch his reaction. He was pouting. 

“And?”

“And _only_ you.” Sapphire rolled her eyes. “But just so you know, I already saw one fellow with his penis out since I arrived, so yours won’t be the only one I see tonight.”

“Someone had their dick out already? I know I shouldn’t ask, but what was he doing with it?”

“Nothing really. It just had a ribbon with a bow tied around it.”

Jaime started walking her toward the concierge and the rooms beyond. “What color was the ribbon?”

“Is this a test? It was red.”

“So he only won second place? Was he hard or flaccid?”

“Leo! What does it matter?”

“I was curious about whether it would slip off or choke his cock depending on the situation.”

“No you weren’t. You’re trying to embarrass me.”

“Guilty. So which was it?”

“Elastic.”

They’d stopped at the lifts and Jaime pressed the Up button. “Elastic?”

“The ribbon. It was elastic. So it can adjust depending on his mood.”

The doors opened and Jaime stood aside for her. “Looking that closely, were you?”

“No, I’m guessing. It was soft, if you must know.” Sapphire playfully palmed him through his trousers. His transition from half-hard to marble pillar was instant. “Unlike yours.”

“If I push the emergency stop and take you right here in the lift will you give me a blue ribbon? It’s bound to be more comfortable doing it in here than on the stairs.” 

“About the stairs, Leo…” 

Jaime pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck. “What about them?” 

Sapphire hesitated and he stood back to look at her. She was blushing. “When I talked to Ellaria about us on Sunday, she thanked me for our little performance, which has made it into her personal video library.”

Jaime looked at her in shock. “Isn’t that against the rules or something?” 

“Apparently not. Security footage is considered fair game, legally, but Madame Sand assured me that it would never be shared beyond private viewings with anyone engaged with her in certain…” Sapphire began to smile, amused by the look on Jaime’s face. “I’m sorry, sweetling, it appears as though our play has been used to enhance theirs.”

“Gods, how many people do you think have already seen it?” 

“She’s a busy woman, so really, how often could she have company of that sort? In private, I mean.”

“This is Ellaria we’re talking about. Private to her and private to us might mean something different.” Jaime chuckled, “I think Olyvar must have been one of the people to see it, though. He seemed strangely inquisitive and interested in us when I saw him on Tuesday. Seeing us unmasked after seeing the video must have piqued his curiosity.”

“Olyvar? I’m pretty certain he doesn’t do women at all, so why would he want to see -? _Oh_!” Sapphire grinned, “Something tells me he was more interested in you than he was in ‘us.’”

“Why would he care? He must see guys getting blown all the time.” Jaime tried to shake the Daisy Chain image from his mind. “I’m sure there wasn’t enough of me visible to make it worth his time.” The lift doors opened and they walked down the hallway.

“They saw more than you think. Ever heard of a zoom lens?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“On a security camera?”

“According to Ellaria, they have very sophisticated equipment. I got the feeling she could sculpt your cock from memory, the way she was going on.”

Jaime stopped walking. “By all that’s good,” he begged her, “Please tell me you’re pulling my leg.”

She took his hand to get him walking again. “Or pulling your cock, anyway. I was kidding about the zoom lens if it makes you feel any better.”

“So, Ellaria being able to sculpt –"

“I was making that part up, too.”

“But it crossed your mind.”

“What did?”

“That the very memory of my cock…”

“Warrants sculpting?” Sapphire laughed, and Jaime wasn’t sure it was _with_ him.

“Never mind.”

“Tell me what you were going to say.”

Embarrassment made Jaime blush. His flirtatious attempt to get her to admit that she, at least, knew his cock’s shape well only made him look like a needy idiot. Forcing a grin, he tried to change the topic. “Do you think I could get a copy of it?”

“Of the sculpture?”

He sighed. “Of the video.”

“Of the what?”

“The video. But I was only kidding.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“No, I guess I wasn’t.” He gave her a wolfish grin.

“Think you’d ever leave the house again?” Sapphire joked, and then added, “Assuming you haven’t already got a hard drive full of personal sex tapes already. So what's one more? _Ho hum_.” She rolled her eyes.  

He might be inept at sexy banter tonight, but Jaime knew instantly that her mood had shifted. She was talking herself out of trusting him right before his eyes. He reached for her hand to make her stop and look at him. “There are no sex tapes. Even if there were, and I repeat – _there aren’t_ – you are not some fling to me. You’re not a sexual conquest.” He brushed back the hair over her ear, letting his thumb linger near the long side of her mask. “No matter how unusual the way we’ve found each other, it was never that.” 

He struggled to be patient, not to press his sincerity on her with kisses and sweet words. He watched her eyes for understanding, that almost imperceptible change from wary to warm, and when he felt her tiny nod where his hand rested at her jaw he nearly sighed in relief.

“How much further to our room?” She asked softly, making to pull away.

“We’re here.”

They were standing before a door with a plaque bordered in tiny stylized white branches with red leaves around the word “Godswood.” 

“Oh.” Sapphire reached out to touch the sign, tracing the delicate carvings. She turned wide eyes on Jaime. “This is our room?”

He nodded, inserting the card and holding the door open for her. “I requested it.” 

Though the room had been described to him over the phone, it was even more impressive in person. Walls red as autumn berries peaked through long ivory curtains, falling in graceful gathers from ceiling to floor. In the center of the room stood a large bed made from bare white branches that arched up and over the mattress like a forest canopy. The wood was wrapped in hundreds of fairy lights. A wine-colored duvet looked soft and inviting under the dappled glow of the lights.

Moving as though in a dream, Sapphire laid her hand on one of the canopy supports, looking up at the interlaced tree limbs. She turned to him in wonder as he came up beside her. “It’s real weirwood. I’ve never seen so much of it in one place before. You chose this room for us?” Jaime nodded, pleased.  “I love it. You don’t suppose the old gods mind? Having the heart wood used in this way?”

“In ancient times, Weirwood was used for bows and spears, weapons of war. I think the old gods would approve of us making love under it.”

Sapphire turned in a circle, taking it all in. “They’ve even hidden the panel for the St. Baelor’s cross.”

“There isn’t one,” Jaime told her, “I had a different kind of night in mind.”

“Tired of being tied already?” 

“What I want to do with you doesn’t require ropes.” 

“No?”  And just as he’d hoped, she accepted this different way of beginning without hesitation. She turned to face him, her eyes luminous in the soft light; trusting, accepting, aroused. He’d trade anything he owned to see that expression outside the club, that look telling him she might be able to love him someday. 

_Maybe she already does_? 

He feared to break the spell by so much as breathing, but when she stroked his jaw and trailed her fingers down his neck and over his chest, he shivered.

“Are you cold?” She moved closer and he closed his eyes.

“No.”

Jaime felt her lips brush against his. He wasn’t cold; he was on fire. The legendary tranquility of the weirwood around them couldn’t ease the rush of blood though his veins, the way his skin heated under her hands. It had been years since he’d felt so close to losing control; not since the days of his youth, when he’d been ruled by passion and reckless aggression. This passion was of a different sort. There was no violence in it, but the physical and emotional need to act on it was just as strong.

“Leo.” It was more and less than the only name she had for him, spoken in a voice husky with need. Her breath was warm on his lips just before she kissed him, before he lost the battle to be civilized. 

As her mouth opened to his, he pulled her against him roughly, one hand at her neck and the other at the lower curve of her spine, distantly conscious of the low animal noises he made in answer to hers. Breaking away from her lips, he trailed kisses down her throat as she put her head back, moaning. She clung to him, clutching at his hips to hold them against her. 

Wrapping his fingers behind her knee, Jaime brought her leg up to hook over his hip. She grunted and held him tighter, and when he stopped kissing her neck long enough to look up she lowered her head to taste him, the tip of her tongue circling his ear until he trembled, then traveling down, laying a line of fire down the line of his jaw to the apple of his throat and further, using her lips and teeth on his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. 

It was all he could stand. He brought her other leg up around him, lifting her for the second time that night. He carried her two paces and bore her down to the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress, her legs still tight around him and her fingers pulling at his shirt, untucking it so she could feel his skin and scrape her fingernails down his sides. Jaime braced himself on his forearms and rolled his hips into her, his thrusts coarse and urgent.  

Sapphire cried out, a noise somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, spurring him on as he ground into her, guilt warring with how much he wanted to tear off their clothes and just fuck her, to slake his need, to claim her. He braced his hands against the mattress, straightened his arms and bucked against her hard, watching as she bit her lip on a moan, closed her eyes and turned her head to the side.

Had he read her wrongly? “Did I hurt you? Am I too rough? Going too fast?”

“No.” She looked up at him impatiently, her eyes dark with arousal. Then she laughed, “Leo, for Sevens’ sake, I am not some fragile flower. You needn’t worry so much.” 

With a relieved smile, his mouth came down on hers, stifling her laughter, though her lips were still curved up in mirth before she met his tongue with her own and, pushing her fingers into his hair, tugged on it so hard he grunted.

“For Sevens’ sake,” he said when she let go, “don’t _stop_.” 

Her grip tightened again and she wrapped her legs around him, using the strength in her thighs to move their hips as she liked, riding him from the bottom until his eyes were nearly rolling back in his head, waves of bliss battering him. If he expected to last the night, he needed to slow things down, to at least take a break from the way she was all too effectively compromising his cock.

“You know, I had a very different seduction planned for you,” he said, his conversational tone somewhat strained under the circumstances.

“Hm?” Sapphire didn’t stop what she was doing, the rocking or the way her hands were roving. In fact, she made it worse by sliding them under the waist of his pants and squeezing his ass.

“Room service is bringing up a cart later with some things - _ahhh_ ,” she’d found a particularly sensitive place with her hands, somewhere between his hipbone and belly, and the sensation was somewhere between ticklish and _holy fuck don’t ever stop_. “So, if you want to maybe slow down…”

“Didn’t you just ask me _not_ to stop?” she huffed, more amused than irritated. 

“I'm just saying… _gods_ …just saying…have mercy, wench. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“I’ve heard this tune from you before, Leo. You worry too much.” Still, she relaxed beneath him, stretching like a cat as he panted atop her. “You may not think you can keep going, but your cock always begs to differ.”

“It only seems like it has a mind of its own. Alright, maybe it does. And you’re right; we can’t get enough of you.” He moved off to lay down facing her. “But if I’m going to make love to you as much as I want to before we part again, I’d rather not waste any of it dry-humping like a couple of teenagers.”

“Huh. I could have sworn you were enjoying yourself.”

“Naw. Hated every second of it. Total rubbish, it was.”

“Monster.” 

“But I’m _your_ monster, and now you can’t escape.” Her answering smile was a relief. Could her doubts really be fading?

“So tell me, Monster, what is this ‘different seduction’ you have planned? Does it have to do with what they’ll be delivering?”

“It does.” He couldn’t hide his grin, thinking of what she’d say when it arrived.

“Does it involve whisky?” There was a glint in her eye that almost made him wish it were.

“Alcohol is involved, but it’s not whisky.”

“Please tell me it isn’t Akvavit,” she groaned.

“Akvavit?”

“It’s a liquor made from –“

“I know what it is. If I was into torture then it probably would be. I take it you’ve tried it?” She nodded, grimacing. “Right. My dear father drinks it from time to time, thinks it’s manly to suffer through it.”

“I heard it’ll put steel in a man’s harpoon,” Sapphire’s eyes were mischievous, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she had some personal experience of it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Jaime told her, “and I’m not about to ask my dad.”

She chuckled. “So not that, then, and not whisky. Speaking of whisky, thank you for sending me some to share.”

“Did you drink it?” He’d stopped himself from bringing up his gift half a dozen times since she’d walked into the club, afraid she’d forgotten all about it.

“Of course I did. Right at seven that night, just as you suggested.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes. I loved it. Was that particular whisky special to you in some way?” Was that a tear, glinting at the corner of her eye? 

“Yes, because I wanted to drink it with you. It was the very last of that bottle, in truth.” 

“Oh? Had it been open long? It was very good. I’m sure you must have enjoyed drinking the rest of it.” There was something more than simple curiosity in her question, but Jaime couldn’t tell from her oddly intense expression what it was. 

“I opened it after I met you.” He confessed, “And I drank nearly the entire bottle by myself.”

“All at once?”

“All but the last bit, though I never suspected I’d get a chance to drink it with you.”

“You must have felt awful.” The corners of her mouth were pulled down in a frown of sympathy, but her breathing was shallow, her face flushed. 

“I did, and then I didn’t.” How much should he say? Should he tell her how he’d already fallen for her after that second session, the one that had ended so badly? He’d come so close to fucking it up. To giving up. “I mean, I felt terrible when I was drinking it, and I felt like shit the next day,” _and I fucked Cersei, like a seven-damned fool_ , “But I realized somewhere between the remorse and the crisps that being ‘in too deep’ as you called it, wasn’t the worst thing.”

Unnoticed by Sapphire, the moisture in her eye coalesced into a single tear, leaving nary a trace as it slid down and dried on her cheek. She smiled. “That was the bottle you ate crisps with?”

“Guilty.”

“Sounds like an altogether awful experience.”

“But worth it, in the end. I enjoyed sharing it with you last night, even though we weren’t in the same room.”

“Your note was very explicit about when I should drink it. Though not explicit in any other respect.” she reached out and pushed back some hair that had flopped over the edge of his mask.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you send me a note asking me to drink some whisky at a certain time, and that you’ll do the same, but not a word about what to wear, what to think about while I’m doing it.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I mean, obviously I wanted you to think of me, but for the other? Should I have been more creative?”

“I would have been.”

“What would you have written?”

“I think I’d have suggested you take of your clothes, maybe drink it in bed. While thinking of me, obviously.”

Jaime’s mouth dropped open. “Wow, I really blew my chance didn’t I? Damn. Will you send me a note like that sometime? Please?”

“How would that go over if you were at work in one of your very nice suits?”

“I have a door. With a lock.”

“You wouldn’t.” She was half scandalized, but he could see the idea take root and wondered if the week ahead was going to be more difficult than usual, in a very good way.

“Try me. So what were you wearing when you drank the whisky last night?”

“Jeans, a t-shirt. Nothing special. But afterwards I’m afraid I got to wondering if you were out there, naked, hard, and thinking of me.  I guess the whisky and romance acted on me as a bit of an aphrodisiac.”

Jaime’s eyes widened as her meaning became clear. “Did you…?”

“Mm hm.” She started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Can you…can you elaborate? I mean, where, how, stuff like that?”

Sapphire chuckled and put her warm hands on his chest. She rolled one of his nipples between her finger and thumb, pinching it lightly, “Would it turn you on to know?”

“It damn well turns me on just thinking about it, so yeah. And be graphic about it, will you?”

“That wouldn’t be very lady-like, now would it?” Her breath was hot against his chest as she moved in close and flicked his other nipple with her tongue. Jaime groaned. “And I’m sure you know I’m all about being lady-like.” She took the tiny bud into her mouth and sucked, letting one hand stray to the waistband of his pants. 

_Men aren’t supposed to like their nipples played with this much, are they_? “Wench, I don’t know what being ‘lady-like’ means to you, but if it means you can’t tell me about what you did after drinking my very fine whisky, then don’t even try.” 

Calmly lowering his zipper, she said, “In that case, Leo, I’ll admit that I went into my bedroom and took off all of my clothes. Then I tossed the cat out and lowered the lights.” She put her hand on his cock, stroking it teasingly through his briefs. “I took my glass wand out. You remember that I have one?”

“It’s burned into my memory, yes.”

Sapphire propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him, her smile bashful. “I hope you appreciate how embarrassing that is, Leo. I’m not in the habit of telling anyone I even have a dildo.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now go on.”

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I do.”

“Alright then.” Sapphire got off the bed and took hold of his pant legs at the ankle and pulled. He lifted his arse so she could get them off of him. She set the pants down and playfully brushed her finger along the elastic band of his briefs, “I got out the toy. It’s a little cold, and it’s heavy, solid glass. There are raised swirls on it, too.” 

She lowered his underwear and he lifted his hips for her again so she could take them off, freeing his cock to jut between them. Sapphire traced one vein and then another with a fingertip, explaining that the swirls on her toy were meant to mimic the ridges of a cock, but really didn’t, being uniform as they were.

“So, anyway, Leo,” she said, swinging one leg over him to sit on his thighs, “I was already really wet, just like I am now.”

“And you were also naked,” he pointed out, half sitting up to push her skirt aside and loop two fingers into the waistband of her panties and then dip them lower to see how wet she really was. Her moan was unexpected, given how calmly she’d been weaving her spell. Knowing that she was also on edge pleased him. 

“You’re right. I was naked.” She obligingly got off of him, her dress swirling around her legs so that he couldn’t see as she lowered them. The green dress with its heart-shaped neckline and nut-brown corset made her look like something from a story, like a fairy, perhaps, or a dryad. One that Jaime fervently hoped had a thing for sexy stories and making love to mortals. 

She pulled the ribbon on the corset’s lacings and deftly undid them, letting the stiff band of suede fall away from her waist so that the dress hung loosely from her shoulders, nearly formless except where it clung to the curve of her breasts and hips. 

“Beautiful,” he breathed, sitting up to look at her. “But still not naked.” She bit her lip, and he knew she was fighting the urge to deflect his compliment. “If you could see yourself through my eyes, Sapphire,” he whispered, “You wouldn’t look at me that way. Now take off your dress and come here. I want the rest of the story.”

With a susurrus of silk over skin, she lifted the gown over her head. She’d worn no bra, and the sight of her suddenly exposed breasts, the gentle curve of each tipped with a flushed pink nipple, already plump with arousal, sent a wave of tenderness and lust through him. She looked vulnerable and sweet, standing naked at the side of the bed, her earlier boldness all but forgotten.

“So,” he said, lying back and stroking his cock suggestively, “you were saying how wet you were, if I recall. Do you want to come over here and straddle my face so I can taste for myself?” He was rewarded by her almost comically widened eyes and the tiny shake of her head. Someday maybe she’d be ready for that, but for now it had the desired effect of getting her back on track. She straddled his thighs again instead, pushing his hand away when he tried to touch her. “Go on," he urged her, "You were wet, and naked, and you had this magic dildo that was hard and cold and ridged, and you were thinking of me.” He smirked, the brief time it had taken to coax her out of her clothes giving his body enough time to come back from the raw edge of _too far_.

“Yes, so I was there, Leo, imagining you. Wanting you.” She reached up and cupped her tits, pinching her nipples lightly, “I thought of how you touch me, and how turned on I get just hearing your voice.”

“You do?”

She closed her eyes and nodded, “Oh, yes.”

“I wish we could talk during the week. Yours does that to me, too.”

She nodded again, her lips curving up as she looked at him again, “I got on my back,” she continued, “and used my fingers to tease myself, imagining it was you.” She touched herself, fingers moving between her folds. “And when I couldn’t stand it anymore, when all I wanted was to feel you inside of me, I took the dildo,” Sapphire reached out and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, “and rubbed the tip of it over my clit." She rose up on her knees and guided his cock between the lips of her cunt, caressing herself with it. "And then I slid it inside.” 

She sank down onto him, his cock filling her until it could go no further. She was silent for a moment, her eyes meeting his.  Jaime was certain that she felt it just as he did, the astonishing sensation they’d experienced the week before when they were joined. He felt the flicker and surge of her around his cock even though she sat perfectly still atop him for several long seconds. Then slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to move. “Of course, I was on my back, and even though the glass gets warm eventually, it could never compare to having you in me.”

"Is it bigger than me?" He almost cursed himself for asking, as she stopped and looked down at him, trying to focus on what he'd asked.

"The toy? No, not even close." She resumed her movement and he reached up to cup her breasts, caress her nipples.

“Did you come?”

“Eventually. I was just going slow, a little like I am now. No hurry.”

“Where you breathing as hard as you are now?”

“No.” She sped up, “I don’t know about you, or just men in general, or even other women, but I find I don’t get all that carried away by myself.”

“Do you make noise?”

“No. Not much.”

“You don’t moan? When you’re close?”

“I’ve only ever done that with you, Leo.”

Without another word, out of questions, he rolled her over beneath him and made love to her the way she'd imagined. Gave her what she’d wanted after the whisky, thrusting into her, raising and cradling her hips in his big hands so he could angle up and stroke her inside in a way that brought the first quiet sounds from her lips. She braced her feet against the bed, moving with him, holding the position he’d found. Jaime let go of her hips and used his arms to brace his torso as he kissed her throat, sucked on the mark he’d left the week before. That shook the first shuddering moan from her, and when he moved to take one hard nipple between his teeth she grunted in surprise, clenching around him. He drew the plump little bud into his mouth, sucking hard, his fear of hurting her overruled by the way she bucked against him, her mouth open wide and her eyes shut tight as she moaned, her entire body shaking in climax. 

He moved his mouth to her neck and she sagged down, gasping. Her nipple was a deep pink, flushed and swollen and wet from his mouth. It would probably be sore later. Jaime slid out of her and gathered her unresisting body to him with one arm. With his free hand he pushed two fingers between her slit, found and caressed her clit as he layered kisses across her face and neck and shoulders. When she began to shake and groan and push against his hand he took her other nipple in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth until she was nearly frantic, coming apart again in long waves. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him to her breast until the last currents of her orgasm receded. 

When she opened her eyes, stroking his hair rather than tugging it, he kissed her, pushed her back against the mattress, and entered her again. She gasped as his thick cock slid along her sensitive flesh, and as he began to move she smiled up at him, riding the edge of ecstasy but not letting go, her eyes locked on Jaime’s.

The feel of her beneath him was sweetness itself, and though the evening had barely begun he couldn’t have asked for more than she’d already given him tonight: her admission earlier that she wanted him despite her fear, and then the way she’d shown him, taken him inside and given him what they both wanted. 

But now he also knew that no other man had made her feel like he could, which shouldn’t matter, but somehow it bound him to her even more. As he made love to her now, her eyelids beginning to flutter as her orgasm built again, the memory of the way she'd keened and shook was making his cock swell.  He knew that if he could just hold on, they would go together this time.

Sapphire sighed beneath him, her arms around his neck, hanging on to him as the start of her climax triggered his. She was quieter this time, her little gasps nothing compared to Jaime’s coarse groans as he came.  He collapsed with a final, low moan and lay trembling next to his woman. 

As one they sought each other out, limbs twining together, sweat-damp skin cooling. Jaime found Sapphire’s strength an unexpected comfort, her arms a safe harbor after the intense storm of his release. He hoped that she found the same comfort and protection within the circle of his embrace. 

When he heard the light knock at the door from room service, he smiled. The night was really just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual things: you can look up urethral dilators (some of them really do resemble swizzle sticks) and icicle dildos on Amazon in the Health and Personal Care department. It is fervently advised that you do not do an image search for urethral sounds. Pass the eye bleach.
> 
> Hopefully this is a better use of your Black Friday than fighting the crowds for a decorative tin full of flavored popcorn or an ugly Christmas sweater you'll only wear once.
> 
> Comments are, as ever, the best gift for the Fanfiction authors in your life. They're at the top of the wish list, naturally. Commenters will receive three free spins on Baelish's Moon Door Mania slot machine. Get three Flying Lysas to trigger the bonus round. Subject to availability. Airfare to the Eyrie not included.
> 
> By the way, in case you thought we were joking...  
>   
> 


	22. Faith and Desire (and the Swing of Your Hips)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's order from room service arrives. Part 2 of 3 chapters that take place on the same night.
> 
> There is a song quoted in this chapter: _Come On Get Higher_ by Matt Nathanson. You might want to go listen to it first if you can. Nearly all of the lyrics are used here. I can't vouch for the video; I've avoided watching it so far.
> 
> Lots o' smut and feels, about 8700 words.

"Honey, there's someone at the door." Brienne mumbled, "I've told you a hundred times to put out that 'No Solicitors' sign we got."

"But I enjoy buying stale candy with a hundred percent mark-up." Leo propped himself up on his elbow and smiled down at her. "And what if it's magazines? We can always use more of those." He rested his free hand on her belly, fingers splayed and his thumb in the slight dip of her navel.

"No, we can't. Your back issues of Bondage Babes Weekly have really taken over the coffee table lately." She looked up, at his tousled hair blending with his lion mask, and at his eyes, sleepy but amused.

"I'm only trying to balance out your Leather Lads Quarterly Review."

"I didn't order that one. You did." 

"I don't remember ordering that." 

"You got it for my Name Day, remember?"

"Right. Your Name Day. When was that again?" He lowered his head until their noses nearly touched, "Do you remember what else I gave you that day?"

"Remind me?" 

"Flannel footie pajamas."

"Right. What was the pattern on those again?"

"Spaceships and dragons, I think."

"However did you find them in my size?" Brienne hoped her breath was alright; his lips were nearly on top of hers.

"I had them custom made, of course. I was able to give them exact measurements from memory." He moved his hand to cup one breast, brushing his thumb over her nipple. "Did I hurt you, earlier?"

"Sorry?"

"Was I too rough, with my mouth?"

"It did hurt a bit, but it didn't feel bad…and then it felt amazing." 

Leo gave a relieved sigh. "You seemed to like it, but I wanted to make sure." He moved to kiss each nipple tenderly before kissing her lips as well. "They're such a turn-on for me, Sapphire."

"My…nipples?" Just saying the word out loud was embarrassing. Her small breasts had been a source of shame for so long, another part of her body that would never match up with society's idea of attractive or womanly. 

"Not just those, although I will admit to an overwhelming fondness for them." He touched one gently with a forefinger. "The way they harden when I look at them," his smile was wistful as he moved his hand to her other breast, "Like they're eager for my touch." Brienne felt his cock stir against her thigh, as aroused as she was by his words. "But your tits themselves, I love the way they look, and the delicate curve of them," He cupped one and held it, like it was indeed something precious.

Brienne let her head flop back onto the pillow. "Leo. What am I supposed to say to something like that? Thank you? I don't think anyone's ever complimented my breasts before. At least not so explicitly. They've never been what you'd call one of my more sought-after attributes. I mean, not that I have _any_ sought-after…did I just call my own boobs attributes? Ugh." She let her head drop back again. "Anyway, shouldn't you get your order from room service, while I just lie here and dissolve into the bed from mortification?"

"You're adorable when you're bashful. But you should know that when I compliment you, I mean it. So here's an idea: just accept it, because I'm not going to stop." Leo got off the bed, walked to the door and opened it. He really was comfortable in his own skin, this man. Brienne watched in fascination as he stepped out to retrieve the cart, his cock bobbing proudly before him.

"I'm just going to use the loo." She announced, and sprinted for the nearest of the two bathrooms. After the bedroom, she shouldn't have been surprised by the opulence before her, but once she'd shut the door and located the toilet, she was able to sit and take it all in. While the main room was all wood and silk, this room was marble and porcelain and glass. With such hard materials the room might have felt austere and cold, but the inset lighting was warm and golden, like sunlight in a forest. It lent a soft glow to the sculpted marble relief of a Weirwood tree, its trunk and limbs seeming to grow from the ordinary walls around it. Pale red and cream veins webbed the white marble of the tree, and the large counter along one wall. The sink was tinted blue glass, and when Brienne washed her hands, the wide faucet sent water cascading into it like a forest pool. 

Checking her make-up and mask in the big mirror over the vanity, Brienne noticed the shower for the first time. It was surprisingly large, with several shower heads in the ceiling and along the walls. She wondered if it would feel like being in a car wash, with all of those jets of water blasting. There didn't appear to be any motorized rotating scrub brushes, so she assumed it was probably safe enough. 

She dried her hands, tried to set her tousled hair to rights, and prepared to rejoin Leo. Opening the door to walk into a room naked, even though she'd just been engaged in the most carnal of activities with its only other occupant, made her feel shy. She'd never been the sort to walk around nude in front of other people. But Leo, his open admiration and compliments made her brave. As his Paramour, shouldn’t she be doing the same for him? She took a deep breath and turned the knob. 

Leo was arranging items on a cart he'd parked at the foot of the big bed. He turned his head and smiled at her. Brienne walked over and kissed him. "Have I ever told you how much I love your smile?" 

"No, I don't think you have." 

"I do. I melt a little every time I see it." Brienne was surprised by how much her words seemed to please him.  "I like the way your eyes half-close when you're really happy, and how  you bite your lip when you're being coy; which on anyone else might seem a bit girlish, but on you is just unbearably cute." Leo huffed in amusement when she said 'girlish,' and made a visible effort not to bite his lip and prove her right. Brienne went on, "And then there are your dimples, especially the left one, the way it quirks up like the world's most impertinent apostrophe. Gods only know how often women swoon just to catch a glimpse of that; I certainly do."

"Thank you." He turned his attention back to the cart, but there was a pleased little flush to his cheek. He rotated a frosty bottle in a silver bucket of ice to show her the Goldroad® label. "I hope you like sparkling wine. We're celebrating, you know."

"Becoming Paramours?"

"Of course." He took a tall stemmed glass from one side of the table and handed it to her, setting the other close to the ice bucket. "If you're ready?" he gestured to the bottle. Brienne nodded. "I'll try not to hit you with the cork, but you should be prepared to duck, just in case." He drew the bottle from the ice and steadied it against his hip with his right hand. " _Graddakh,_ that's cold!" he laughed, jerking it away from him, "forgot I was naked."

"I didn't." 

"Saucy wench." He smirked, holding the bottle firmly so he could take off the foil and untwist the metal cage over the bulbous cork. Brienne watched as he began twisting the bottle and cork in opposing directions, easing the stopper up and out with a subdued _pop_. White fog billowed from the open bottle, and Leo nodded in satisfaction. "Nice, controlled release…I could learn something from this champagne." 

Brienne held out her glass for him to fill. "I don't know about that. I like it when you lose control."

"Oh?" He let the foam in her glass settle while he poured some wine into his. 

"It's unbelievably sexy, watching you come." _Too much_? No, the look in his eyes showed Brienne how much he appreciated her words. 

Leo picked up his glass and held it out to clink with hers. "To us."

"To us." She sipped, meeting his intense gaze for a long moment before she looked down at the laden service cart. "Now what's all this, then?"

"Fresh berries, grapes, and this," he held up a small pitcher that might have commonly housed cream, but instead was full of a deep red liquid. "Wildberry Syrup."

Something told her he had more in mind than a meal. "And that?" She pointed to a red and white aerosol can, sitting incongruously to one side of the finely crafted plates and pitcher. 

"Whipped cream, of course." His grin was infectious, full of mischief as he raised his eyebrows at her. 

"Are you planning what I think you are?"

"People get together and eat, right? Have a drink? Think of it as the date we've never had."

"Unlike any date I've _ever_ had."

"Nor I. But we never got to finish our treats last week, and the chocolate sauce got me thinking." He drained his champagne and set it down so he could wrap one arm around Brienne's waist.  "I want to lay you down on that bed and write my desire for you in berries and cream. I'm going to lick and suck every bit of it off you until you're sticky and sated."

Brienne was equal parts horrified and intrigued. She'd seen a film once where honey had been similarly used, and left the theater itchy rather than aroused. "And what about you? Do I get to lay you down like an oversized waffle and do the same?"

His laughter rumbled into her chest as he pulled her closer. "Waffle. Oh, you do know how to set the mood. I'd be an idiot to refuse, wouldn't I?"

"So, do we do this at the same time, or take turns, or…?" Brienne turned to look at the bed with its beautiful burgundy duvet. "I'd hate to ruin the bed cover, though."

"I'm sure they expect the linens in these rooms to get soiled."

"They might expect it, but that duvet looks hand-stitched. It seems disrespectful to stain it with berries."

Leo stepped away from her. "I'm on it, Wench." 

While she sipped the bubbly wine, Brienne watched him walk around the bed and gather up the duvet, fold it loosely, and set it in a corner of the room. The sheets were pristine and white like the weirwood branches. Leo went to a set of knobs by the door, fiddling with them until the room's ambient light was dim, but not dreary. Like twilight, Brienne thought, with distant stars softly shimmering down through the branches of the tree. The hair on her arms prickled, as she imagined herself back in time, about to engage in some ancient ritual in the Godswood. She wondered if Leo felt it, too. The expression on his face was playful as he walked up to her, standing there naked by the expanse of white. 

"Your eyes are so dark right now that I could swim in them like a midnight sea." He lowered one brow and chuckled. "Was that as corny as I think it was?"

"Yes." She smiled. "But keep trying." 

"You know another of your 'attributes' that I really love? _Your_ smile." He set his hands on the wide curve of her hips, "It's almost the last thing I think of before I fall asleep at night. I imagine the way you look at me after we've made love, when we’re lying side by side, and the way your lips turn up so gentle. Sometimes, though, I think of the way you look at me sideways when you're amused, and I can see the flash of your teeth, the way the corners of your mouth turn down just a little, and it's so cute I can hardly stand it."

"My teeth used to be horrible. I had braces for years."

"I bet you were adorable."

"Sure, if you had a thing for buck-toothed burros." 

"I just might have. Now get on the bed, please. I'm feeling peckish for something sweet. And maybe a bit savory, as well."

Brienne finished her wine and handed it to Leo. His words about her smile had set the butterflies loose in her stomach, but she was chagrinned by her response. Could she not just _thank_ him? She got on the bed and sat down in the middle, hugging her knees.

"On your back, Wench." She lay back and crossed her legs at the ankle, her arms at her side, staring up at the stars. "You've almost got it. Uncross your legs. You're not allowed modestly tonight." He picked up the pitcher of syrup and brought it over to stand next to the bed, tilting it slightly above her navel. "Now, where do I want to pour this first?" He moved it up past her belly and her nipples tightened in anticipation, but he didn't pour it there, either. 

His cock was conspicuously hard and close enough to touch. "Make up your mind, Leo, or I'm going to switch positions with you. Has anyone ever sucked whipped cream off your cock before?"

"No. Are you planning to?" Was his voice a little hoarse? _Oh, this was going to be fun_. 

"Mm hm. Like the most delicious banana split, ever." Daringly, she licked her lips. "Any cherries over there for me to decorate the top?"

"Uh, I don't think so. You could try a blueberry or a strawberry." He tried to look stern, "I've made up my mind. Open your legs." Definitely hoarse. And breathing hard. Slowly she spread for him, his eyes riveted to her movement. "Wider. I want your knees up, too. Gods, you look so fucking delicious I can hardly stand it."

Leo got on the bed on his knees, being careful not to spill. When he was in position he used his free hand to spread her legs wider, lowered the pitcher and dribbled Wildberry syrup from one inner thigh all the way across to the other. Brienne felt it dripping down, seeping through her light curls and between the lips of her cunt. He leaned down to set the pitcher on the floor. 

Sitting back on his heels, Leo stared at what he'd done for a moment, then looked around at the weirwood framing the bed, and back to Brienne. "I hadn't realized before," he whispered, "you here on the white sheet, the syrup, red as blood on your thighs…" 

"It's like a bedding." 

"Like a bedding. Is that alright?"

Brienne nodded, moved by his concern but also a curious sense of inevitability, as though the Godswood had led them to this. Leo's pupils were big in the dim light, and she fancied the glint she saw in his eyes owed as much to emotion as to the tiny stars above. He ran a finger through the syrup on one thigh and put it in his mouth to taste it. 

Suddenly he was on top of her, his groin and belly a heavy pressure against hers as she wrapped her legs around him and nearly dissolved under his passionate kisses.

Too soon, he backed off of her again and his thighs and cock were smeared red where he'd moved atop her, looking just like the maiden's blood in the old tales. How she'd loved those stories as a young teenager. Verse and prose alike filled with an almost romantic savagery, especially the more ancient tales where the rites were more barbaric; the virgin's lover coming to her in the guise of a god to deflower her, to leave the proof of consummation on samite sheets. In those the masked lover was usually a horned god, like a stag, but a maned one was even better. Brienne wondered if Leo knew the old stories.

He took his cock in his hand and leaned forward to rub the tip of it along her slit. "I want to be inside of you so badly," he told her, pushing it past her lips to rub against her clit, sliding down to tease her entrance. "The old rituals – I'm sorry. I can't get them out of my head, even though I know that we are neither of us virgins."

Her hips had risen his touch, opening herself to him. "If you had been my very first…if I _could_ go back, I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have been with." She waited for the embarrassment, the hot blush the admission should have raised, but the warmth that spread through her chest was something else, something that someone more brave might have called _love_. Instead, Brienne took a steadying breath and blurted, "But you're not sticking that thing in me with syrup on it."

"That _thing_? It's 'that thing,' now?"

Brienne chuckled. "Yes, 'thing.' But not to worry; I'm very fond of your thing. Bring it over here and I'll lick it clean for you."

"Wench." His eyes closed in exasperation, but when he opened them he grinned. "Thank you, but no. Right now I need to get on with what I began, because I actually had a little game in mind for tonight." 

"And that is?"

Leo scooted back on the bed until he could lie down on his stomach and push one shoulder under her thigh and use his arm to hold her in place as he tasted the syrup on her inner thigh lazily, running his tongue along the delicate skin, slowly lapping at it before making his tongue firm and pointed to draw small swirling designs in the strip as he got closer to the apex of her legs. He stopped and lifted his head to look along her body, to check her expression as she lifted her head to watch him. When he was sure he had her full attention, he lowered his head and ran his tongue from her entrance to her clit and up into the sticky hair above, holding her tight with his arm as she wriggled and gasped.

"Kinda turned on, aren't you?" He said, stopping to watch her again.

"Tease." She arched her back and crossed her unrestrained leg over his back, digging her heal in between his shoulder blades. The unintended side effect of this was to bring her cunt even closer to his face. Before she could pull away he nudged her other hip up with his shoulder and held her still. 

"So this game," he said conversationally, "I'm always thinking of things I want to know about you, and I thought, what if every time I give you an orgasm, you have to answer a personal question for me?"

"That's your game? You must not have that many questions, huh?"

"Oh, just try me. I bet I can get a dozen questions in before the night is done."

"You're pretty confident." 

"By my count I made you come three times before the night had hardly begun."

"Oh, I'd say it had already begun, alright." 

"Maybe so. But you know I can give you more. Maybe not as earthshaking as those –"

"Earthshaking?" She'd laid her head back and laughed.

"Oh, come on, Wench. I know they qualified as tremblers _at the least_."

"Are you pouting?" Brienne lifted her head to look at him again as he deliberately set his scruffy chin up on her mons and let his lower lip stick out. "Oh, Leo, my sweetling. I shall agree that they were good, even _very_ good, but orgasms aren't all like that. How are you to judge what passes for coming and what's three seconds of bliss or just an enthusiastic grunt? Are they the same? Am I to answer a question every time you make me moan or squirm?"

"Sounds fine to me," he grinned.

"It sounds _unfair_ to me."

"How is it unfair? You get pleasure, and I get to know you better, which is what I want."

"You assume that I have no questions for you."

"You have questions for me, Wench?"

"Yes, and the first of them is: when did I become simply 'Wench'?"

"It was too laborious to always say 'Whisky Wench' all the time. Besides, it suits you."

"A little disreputable, a wee bit risqué?"

"Exactly. Is that first question a freebie, or did you earn it somehow?"

"Is that a question?" An odd conversation to have with a man propped between her legs, but she felt remarkably at ease. "I think we need to come up with some other way of earning questions, because if I get just one question for every time I make you come, then I can only ask one or two. And if you get a question every time your ego says you've made me come, you'll have such a surfeit of information you'll lose interest in me before next week."

"First of all, Wench, the more I find out about it you, the more I want to know. Secondly, or maybe this should have been first: my ego? You think it's all in my head, that I can satisfy you?"

"No. But –"

Leo lowered his head between her legs again, tightened his grip and pulled her legs wide apart, opening her for his mouth. Wasting no time, he stole her powers of speech entirely. Brienne tried to fight it at first, but he was relentless. And talented.  She squirmed in his grip, but his heavily muscled arms kept her in place. Her fingers twisted in the sheets as he took control. She was taut as a bowstring, his mouth the anchor point locking her in place. He was like an archer, drawing pleasure from her until he loosed her like an arrow, sending her arcing high into the nighttime sky to spend herself among the stars before she fell, swirling soft as a feather, down and down.

She wasn't sure when or how she landed, but she knew she had by Leo's gentle laughter as he dropped down on the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms.

_Am I twitching? Gods_ …

"Does that one count?" He was clearly pleased with himself. 

"Are we still on that?" It was difficult to sound snippy when she felt like her bones had dissolved, and in a manner that she had to admit was rather delightful.

"We are. Do I get a question?"

"Only if I get one, too."

"Done. How about we each get to ask a question if either one of us climax."

"Sounds like a lot of pressure on us both."

"We can make up new rules as we go along." Leo ran his fingers up her ribcage and she shivered. "Will that do?"

"We can try it. What's your question then?" She turned onto her side and kissed his nose. 

"Do you think of me before you go to sleep at night? I mean, other than sexually? And by the way, I won't let you get away with 'yes' or 'no' answers."

"That's an easy one. I've thought of you before going to sleep every night since we met." Brienne looked at his eyes, bright and eager behind his mask. "I even have a pillow that I arrange beside me, so I can hug it close and lay my head on it.'" She placed her hand over his chest and stroked the warm fur over his heart. "It's pretty scrawny in comparison to this, but one must make do."

"And when you're snuggled up to this pillow, are you picturing me in your bed, or are you picturing us here?"

"That's two questions."

"No, it's part of the first, because you didn't fill in all the details."

"I might need to see these rules in writing. Something tells me you're going try to cheat. I bet I'd have to watch you like a falcon when you play Westeropoly."

"My brother is the one that cheats at that. Also at Meereenoply, but it's harder to catch him at it since the rules are in low Valyrian. The object is to collect slaves rather than property. It's pretty grim, really."

"Your brother speaks low Valyrian? I know a little bastard Valyrian. It's a very difficult language."

"He's a clever little git, I'll give him that. He got the lion's share of the brains, I'm afraid."

"And you got the charm. Is it my turn for a question yet?"

"No, because you didn't finish mine yet."

Brienne sighed. "In that case, I imagine you in my bed. But don't read anything into it, ser; I'm not saying you'll ever see the inside of my house or my bedroom." Though she'd said it playfully, Leo's smile faded, and with it the brightness of his eyes as he glanced quickly away. 

"Fair enough. Your turn. I'll tell you anything you like."

"Leo, I –"

"Don't worry about it, Sapphire. It's what I deserve for pushing too hard."

 _Sapphire._ What happened to _Wench_? Brienne's heart ached under the weight of his obvious disappointment. He already knew she wouldn't see him outside the club, so why must she keep bringing it up? She at the least owed him the truth rather than constantly trying to keep him at a safe distance. 

He was looking at her again, waiting for her question with better grace than she deserved. "I _do_ picture you in my bed. Going to sleep and waking up beside me. I live alone, except for my cat, of course, and Ive always liked it that way. But lately I do picture you there a lot. Not just in my bed. You're with me all the time now, in my thoughts." She reached out and traced the line of his jaw, and he swallowed hard, stayed silent. "It's a fucking annoyance, if you want the truth."

"Good. At least we both suffer. Now what's your question?" 

"I want to know what you wear to bed."

"That's it?" He scowled at her, but at least her explanation had seemed to soothe the sting of her earlier words. "Sometimes I wear flannel pajama pants, usually with some embarrassing cartoon or saying on them. My younger brother started giving them to me for my Name Day and Winterfest years ago, but in the past few years, anytime he sees a pair he finds amusing he buys them and makes up an occasion to give them to me. I have quite a collection now."

"Do you have a favorite pair?"

"I have one with caricatures of the gods as superheroes." He grinned. "You should see the Warrior. He has the most ridiculous helmet ever and skimpy tights with red boots. The Crone wears a golden housecoat that shows quite a bit of leg, and she uses a walker with tennis balls as a weapon. Calling them blasphemous is an understatement."

"You said 'sometimes.' What else do you wear? "

"I have some soft old tees if I wear a shirt, but I usually don't. Sometimes I sleep naked, or I go to bed in pajamas and take them off if I get too hot. Or horny."

"Oh?" Brienne held her breath, hoping he'd elaborate.

"Mm hm. Question time is over, Wench. Back to work." He got off the bed, picked up the syrup pitcher again, and gleefully poured a big dollop of it on her stomach. Laughing at her indrawn breath as she looked down at the syrup slowly spreading, pooling in her belly button and dripping down her sides, he carried it back to the cart and set it there. He picked out a handful of berries and carried them over.

He placed alternating blueberries and blackberries in the shape of a heart over the syrup on her belly. "Gods I wish I could take a picture of this."

"Dead. Dead and gone, Leo. _So dead_."

"You know what this needs?" He went to the cart and put the remaining berries down, picking up the whipped cream instead. He came back shaking the can vigorously and Brienne had to laugh at the sight of him; a maned god, loins and stiff cock still sticky with syrup, grinning like a maniac with a red and white aerosol can. She laughed harder still when he leaned over and sprayed a small pointy mound of cream in the center of the heart of berries and placed a plump strawberry on top of it. The fruit sank instantly. "No problem," he assured her. He plucked the strawberry from its snowy nest and brought it, covered in cream, to her mouth. 

Brienne curled her tongue along the pointed end as he held it, taking the cream into her mouth like a cat before opening her lips to accept his offering. Feeling faintly ridiculous, she sucked it partly into her mouth before biting into it as she'd seen done in countless movies and television shows. Ridiculous or not, the effect on her Paramour was gratifying. He swiped the rest of the strawberry through the pile of cream and offered it to her. 

"I want you to eat it." She told him. He popped it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "So much for that," she sighed.

"Saving my appetite. Do you feel like a waffle yet?"

"I certainly do."

"I'm not done, you know." He picked up one of her arms and sprayed a little cream in her palm before trailing a thin line of it down the underside from wrist to elbow. He sat down beside her, laying the can on the bed so he could hold her arm while he bent his head to the bend of her arm to scrape his teeth over the delicate crease there, going on to lick and suck it clean, driving all thought of waffles from her mind. 

"That's – that feels amazing. _Oh_ –" she gasped as he got to her wrist, sucked at the vein there until her entire body seemed to throb with need. 

Her hand was still full of cream when he stopped to take a breath and kiss her. She twisted and wrapped it around his cock, tightening her grip when he almost jerked away in surprise. Whipped cream, she noted, was not an ideal lubricant as she started to pump her hand up and down his shaft. He didn't seem to mind, but she had a better idea. She started to sit up, but he held her down with a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't. Not yet. I'm not done with the heart I made."

"Then you're going to have to bring your thing to me."

"My…thing? How?"

"I should think that's obvious. You can hold on to the bed frame if you need to."

"Are you sure?"

She squeezed him, not gently, and used his cock like a lever to get him moving. He took the hint and set his knees on the bed just above her shoulders and held on to the weirwood frame so he could lower his hips. She guided him to her mouth,  licked the slightly salty taste of his arousal mixed with the sweet cream, and nibbled on the knot of skin where the head of his cock met the ridge on the underside, and he exhaled loudly. Brienne looked up along his stomach to his chest, to where he rested his head on one arm, his eyes closed. His hands were wrapped around the sturdy branches to support his upper body. 

As he'd done to her, she cleaned the cream and syrup from his skin. First with long, slow licks that made him gasp, and then by taking him into her mouth as far as she could. She curled her fingers around the backs of his thighs and pulled him lower, took him a little deeper. The sound coming from him was…well, it was going to be worth at least one question, she thought. But not yet…

She knew from experience that Leo would try not to come, and that was fine for her purposes. Brienne knew his body and its responses well enough to gauge when he was too getting too close, and she used that to her advantage. This was not a battle, but a siege, and like all sieges it was time that would deliver the enemy into her hands – or mouth, as it were. Or both, she thought, releasing his thighs to let her hands roam along his nicely rounded arse and thence underneath to travel the V running from hips to groin, short fingernails eliciting a gratifying series of grunts as she explored. 

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he panted.

She let him slip from her mouth to say, "I should hope so. It would be a shame if I'd ended up with your dick in my mouth by accident, " before continuing her assault.

"I mean…oh, never mind."

It is universally known that starting to laugh with a cock in your mouth can be dangerous, for both the blower and the blowee. Brienne needed to let him go again as laughter bubbled up, and though she kept her hands moderately engaged, the fact that she was not at that instant in control of any of Leo's more sensitive equipage allowed him to push away from the tree limbs he'd been clinging to and get off the bed before she could stop him. 

"Question time?" Brienne asked, looking up at him brightly. The fierce look on his face as he stood glaring down at her should have warned her, but alas, she was too amused to be wary. 

In one swift movement, Leo grabbed her closest ankle and rotated her 90 degrees on the bed. She was still laughing as he positioned her with bum at the edge of the bed and her legs propped against his shoulders. By then he was laughing at the surprise on her face that did little to stem her mirth. Careful not to disturb the syrup and berry heart in her belly, he positioned his cock with one hand and rammed it into her with a satisfied grunt, her startled _oof_ no deterrent as he thrust again and again.

Arousal and humor had seldom been paired in Brienne's life before meeting Leo, and never in such a visceral way. She wanted him, he had her, and it happened that being fucked hard was not incompatible with mirth. The two grinned at each other as he held tight to her hips, slowing down to adjust his angle, finally stroking into her in such a way that she nearly upset the heart as her body reacted.  As it was a few of the berries slid out of alignment, and one of them outright rolled off unnoticed and was crushed, an early casualty in the waffle game. 

Leo ceased all movement, but didn't withdraw. "So, do you want to ask the next question?"  He said, plucking a blueberry off of her stomach and eating it.

"Sure. Does Thing have a name?"

"Not until today. Thing thanks you for that."

"I think I should have asked a better question. Your turn."

"You can have a second try if I can."

"Deal."

"But my question first: Where's the weirdest place you've ever had sex?"

Brienne thought about it. "I assume that you mean other than in a bondage club?"

"Have you been to more than one?"

"No free questions." She smiled when Leo stuck his tongue out at her. "I'd have to say the most unusual would be in the back seat of a car."

"Oh. Now I'm kinda sorry I asked." 

"Why is that?" Brienne noticed that he'd begun to move within her again, but very slowly.

"Because I've already fantasized about fucking you in a car, and now that I know you have…" He pulled almost entirely out and then slid back with painstaking control. Brienne fancied she could feel every millimeter of his (or Thing's) progress. "Did you like it?"

"What you're doing now?" She used her internal muscles to deliberately squeeze his cock and he froze.

"By the gods, Wench, play fair here. I meant did you like doing it in a car? Would you do it again? If you had the chance, would you do it with me?"

"That's three questions. But I'll answer anyway. It was alright in a car, but cramped. I prefer something roomier.  If I could, would I do it again and would I do it with you? I honestly never considered having sex in a car again as something I'd seek out, but yes, Leo, in the right car I imagine I'd want to with you." His smile was enough to make her continue, "In fact, I happen to have a car with a very roomy back seat. Now we can both fantasize about that."

"Thank you, Wench. I will. I don't suppose you want to tell me what kind of car it is?"

Brienne thought about what she'd learned of his love of cars from his profile on Whisky Lovers. "Sorry. The model is just rare enough that telling you would reveal too much information."

"A rare car, huh? Fair enough," he sighed. "Your turn."

"Do you have a favorite song? I mean, not an all-time favorite, but one that you listen to a lot right now?"

"I do. Would you like me to sing it to you?"

"You sing?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid. But I can try."

"Please do."

"But first I'm going to have to give up on this tantric sex thing. I feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust if either of us, but especially you, makes another move." Brienne was sorely tempted to clench around his aching cock one more time, just for good measure, but nodded at him instead and he pulled out with a groan, looking like that movement might be the one to tip him over the edge. 

Landing gracelessly on the bed beside her, he reached over to hold her hand. They stayed that way awhile, Leo with eyes closed waiting for his body to calm, Brienne trying to forget her waffle-ness and gazing up at the interwoven branches above them through half-closed eyes. After a while her breathing deepened and she must have drifted off, because she was in the midst of dreaming that they were walking through the forest, hand in hand, when Leo's singing awoke her.

His voice was a pleasant low rumble in her ear, and far better than he'd led her to expect. He'd propped himself on one elbow and was looking down at her.

"Leo. Could you start over please? I missed the first part. I was dreaming."

"What were you dreaming about?"

"It had only just begun, but we were walking in a forest." She started to turn to her side to face him, and then remembered the berries. "Couldn't we just eat the berries so I can move already?"

"Sure. It can be part of your dream, us eating berries in the forest." Leo chose several out of the heart and put a blackberry to her lips. They spent the next few minutes happily feeding each other berries until only the wide pink smear of Wildberry mixed with cream remained on Brienne. She turned to lie facing Leo.

"Now, what is this song called?"

"Come On Get Higher." He grinned, "It reminds me of us. Try not to let my singing ruin the song for you, if you ever listen to the real thing."

He bobbed his head a few times to get the beat and began:

 _I miss the sound of your voice_  
_And I miss the rush of your skin_  
_And I miss the still of the silence_  
_As you breathe out and I breathe in  
_

_If I could walk on water_  
_If I could tell you what's next_  
_I'd make you believe_  
_I'd make you forget  
_

_So come on, get higher, loosen my lips_  
_Faith and desire and the swing of your hips_  
_Just pull me down hard_  
_And drown me in love_  


  
He was looking at her with such emotion in his eyes. Clearly the song had come to mean a lot to him, and she knew that long after this Season was over the memory of his singing it would still be with her.

  
_I miss the sound of your voice_  
_Loudest thing in my head_  
_And I ache to remember_  
_All the violent, sweet_  
_Perfect words that you said_  


_If I could walk on water_  
_If I could tell you what's next_  
_I'd make you believe_  
_I'd make you forget_  


_I miss the pull of your heart_  
_I taste the sparks on your tongue_  
_I see angels and devils_  
_And God, when you come –_  


  
And as he sang _when you come_ , the yearning in his voice nearly broke her heart. He went on to finish the song, humming through the hold ons, sha la las and ooh oohs, to the final chorus and last verse:

  
_It's all wrong, it's all wrong_  
_It's all wrong, it's so right_  
_So come on, get higher_  
_So come on and get higher_  
_'Cause everything works, love_  
_Everything works in your arms._  


As his voice faded, Brienne almost expected the sounds of the forest to fill the silence in the room.  She could not speak to fill it; she knew that no sound would come. So she did as the song suggested, and put her arms around him, and they held each other as the syrup between them warmed and became slippery, the smell of Wildberry infiltrating their cozy embrace.

Eventually, Brienne decided to push Leo onto his back and with just a bit of ingenuity soon had them both coated in goo, shoulders to thighs. They spent a few industrious minutes trying to lick each other clean, but mostly made more of a mess. 

"Oh, Leo, if I have any more of this sweet stuff I might just be sick," Brienne told him. "Would you mind terribly if we stopped?"

"As you wish, Wench." He said, his finger lazily tracing letters in the mixture on her hip.

"What are you writing there?" She asked.

"Try to guess." He repeated the motion, a downward stroke with an upward curl and a dot on the top.

"J?"

"Maybe." He tried another, this one a curve that seemed to meet itself.

"O?"

"Close." He drew another.

"E? Are you trying to tell me your real name is Joe? Are you writing Joy? Jon? Jog? You want to go jogging?"

He _hmphed_ at her and quickly wrote two more letters before rubbing them out with his hand. "It's my turn to ask another question, anyway."

"All right, but I could never equal the way you answered mine."

"My singing's not all that, but if you think I deserve to ask two questions I won't complain. Or a two-parter, maybe?"

"We'll see." Wincing at the way her thighs had fused together stickily, she unstuck them and wrapped one long leg over Leo's hip. 

"Okay, here it is," he paused and then said all in a rush, "Have you ever been married before do you ever see yourself getting married do you want kids and how do you take your coffee?" 

"Wait a minute – that's –" Brienne counted mentally, " _Four_ questions. Some of them quite personal, Leo."

"I didn't pause, so technically it's just one long question." He grinned, "And they may be personal, but they don't compromise your anonymity to answer them. Also, I forgot to mention that if you refuse to answer any question, I get to ask two to make up for it."

"Making up rules now, are we?" She hadn't expected any questions about the future. Most men avoided such questions altogether, some right up until they found themselves dressed up in a tuxedo and standing at the altar as their bride was escorted down the aisle. Aside from that, he already knew that she didn't think they had a future.

"If you think about it, Sapphire, they're questions any well-meaning auntie might ask at a family gathering. It's not a proposal to ask them, nor a commitment to answer them." He bit his lip and tried to look appealing-but-not-girlish. He had a streak of syrup down one side of his nose and the ends of his hair were clumped together with it. "But if you prefer, here's another: would you like me better if I grew sideburns like Mister Darcy? How about that and the coffee one?"

"I like strong coffee, a dark roast usually, with a lot of cream, and no sugar."

"What color does that make it when it's just right?"

"Caramel? Milk chocolate? Also, if I have time I like to bring a cup of coffee back to bed with me while I read the news on my tablet. I kind of miss newspapers, but not enough to subscribe to any."

"And my other question?"

Brienne reached out and ran a fingertip from the edge of his mask to his jaw, as though she were imagining him in sideburns. "I've never been married. When I was much younger, I used to picture myself married someday. Maybe even with a kid or two. It's been some years since I realized that it would never be for me." She swallowed at the lump in her throat, but it didn't budge. She gave him a weak smile. "What about you?" He'd been watching her eyes as she'd touched his face, and she'd seen the way he took in what she said. She'd made herself seem pitiful, and that wasn't what she intended. She'd meant to sound brave, resolved, an independent woman. She was all of those things, but under his gaze she only felt lost.

"Why? Why would you think it's not for you?" His voice was soft, cautious.

"Most marriages, they're miserable, aren't they? I mean, I've seen some happy ones, but they're rare."

His hands were warm as they found hers, and held them between their chests. "But there _are_ happy ones. Some people are happy. Why not you?"

"You see me, Leo, perhaps better than most. Aside from my… _looks_ , I'm just not an easy person to be with. Sometimes I talk too much, and sometimes too little, but when I do say something, I'm opinionated. I put people off because I not only don't express my thoughts well most of the time, but the things I like or know are obscure, or the way I think about them is." Brienne paused, trying to gauge if he understood her at all. The way he looked at her, the way he always looked at her, almost made her doubt the way she doubted herself. It was dangerous, to let that kind of hope in. "And men, Leo, they don't care for the way I'm bigger and stronger than they are. And if they do like it, they tend to want someone who is going to _manage_ them. To be their mother, not their partner. I don't want that. I don't _want_ someone weaker than me. And I'm dull – gods, so dull. I'm not the life of the party; I'm not even the life of the room, even if I'm the only one in it." She stopped, astonished that she'd revealed so much.

"Sapphire, who is this person you're describing? It's not you. What you want, that rings true. And you are strong, I count that as a positive. But dull? Oh, Wench, even if you take away the way I want you in my bed, you could never be dull. Oh, Sweetling." He let go of her hands and gathered her to him, and as she often did, she didn't feel like _too much_ being in his arms. Not too tall, or too broad, too ugly, or too smart. And sometimes she didn't even feel _equal_ ; she felt protected, like the child she'd never gotten to be, in his embrace. "You are so much _more_ than you know." He said.

"I'm sorry, Leo. I didn't intend to be so needy." Her words came out muffled by the way he had her clasped against him, held tight as she tried not to shake or sob or even sigh. He'd said she was strong, and she was. She could get through this with her dignity intact.

"It's okay to need someone, Wench. It really is. Shall I tell you about me? I once thought I'd be married, and fairly young at that. I was in love, and I thought she loved me. She said the time wasn't right, so I waited. I waited while she 'found herself.' I waited as she 'took a break' from us. And when she married someone else, still I waited for her. Still I gave all that I could give." He stroked Brienne's hair, and she knew that he, too, was trying to hold on to the emotions threatening to break him. "I was the ultimate cliché; a fool for love. And for a while, after I realized that I had been played for a fool, I was bitter. But I can't live that way anymore. Hope creeps in, even after you bar the door. Remember that, Wench." He tilted her chin to look at him, "Will you try?"

It would be a lie to tell him that hope hadn't already crept in. That though she fought it, she'd allowed herself the fantasy of having him for a little longer. Maybe they could do another Season together? "I'll try, Leo." She gave him a smile she hoped wasn't too tremulous. "You know, I think we still have time for more questions, but I've had quite enough of being sticky. Would you mind if I took a shower before we do anything else?" 

"Not at all, Wench," he smiled, but it barely touched his eyes. "I'll strip off the sheets."

"And you should probably shower, too. Get Thing clean for his – its? - next big adventure." She got off the bed. The sheets looked wrecked, the pure white of them smeared with red and pink and darkest purple.

He looked up at her, equally messy, and assured her that he would be showering soon as well. Brienne went in to the washroom and found that the bath towels were in an alcove within the shower enclosure, as were shampoo and soap. She'd need to call for her bag afterwards to refresh her make-up, but there would be no help for her hair other than the blow-dryer she found under the sink. Hopefully Leo wouldn't mind if she looked a little frowzy after her shower. 

Brienne took off her mask and set it on the vanity counter. Then she stepped in the shower and experimented with the faucet controls until she had a good temperature and a pleasantly warm rain of water from the ceiling. She'd just picked up the bar of soap when she heard the door open.

"Leo! You can't be in here – I'm not wearing my mask!"

She heard a soft _click_ and the lights went out, leaving the room in complete darkness. "It's okay. Neither am I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, every one! There's still one more chapter covering their night at the club. It seemed better to post this right now, rather than in the couple weeks it would take to get everything else in there. Haven't decided whose POV yet, but probably Jaime's. Thank you to everyone who reads, kudos, and comments on this story. 2015 had its ups and downs, but your support and enjoyment of this story has really been one of the highlights of our year!
> 
> P.S. A couple of small things in this chapter weren't sitting right with me. So there are a couple of post post edits. Nothing very substantial has changed, but some things may be clearer in tone. - Nurdles


	23. Like Mist Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Leo and Sapphire's fourth meeting at the club. Will Brienne allow Jaime to stay after he asks to shower with her, unmasked?
> 
> Around 8500 words.

Sapphire disappeared into the bathroom and Jaime gazed around the room; it was beautiful, even more now than when they'd first seen it. Without her though, without them, it felt hollow, like so many of the temples and fortresses he'd visited during the world tour he'd taken straight out of University. Historical landmarks meticulously and expensively restored for student tourists and elderly bucket-listers to experience for a small admission fee.  He'd walked through room after room that had seen the best and worst of life; love and worship and violence, birth and death and everything in between. All of it scrubbed and brightened and served up with a side of written history, words as passionless as dried ink and milled paper.

They'd leave the Godswood room with no more than a faint scent on the air and a pile of sheets that bore the stains of the ritual he and Sapphire had imagined for themselves. Soon any tangible proof of their presence would be scrubbed away, readying it for other members; for sex without strings and pleasure without meaning. In truth, just what he had joined the club looking for. Probably why she'd joined as well.

Together they'd made it more than that. Things had changed between them this night. Not as much as he'd like, but the night wasn't over yet. After they'd both showered and spent a few moments alone they would be together again in this room for what was left of the night. Jaime understood Sapphire well enough now to guess that many of the barriers she'd let down would be back in place, much of the intensity between them washed away as surely as the Wildberry syrup.

_No. It would not do_.

Jaime stripped the top sheet off with a quick yank and replaced it with the duvet. He heard the water go on in the shower, the rhythm of it changing as Sapphire adjusted the flow to her liking. Jaime walked to the bathroom door and turned the knob, praying to the seven that she hadn't thought to lock it.

She hadn't. 

He slipped into the room, already filling with steam. Through it he glimpsed Sapphire's tall form behind frosted glass, featureless as a reflection in a moving stream.

"Leo! You can't be in here," she gasped, "I'm not wearing my mask!"

Jaime touched the switch by the door and the room went dark. He slipped off the lion mask that had come between them too many times and tossed it in the direction of the sink. 

"It's okay. Neither am I." He said. "You said I should shower too."

"I didn't mean with me!" Sapphire's rich voice had risen to a near-panicked squeak.

Should he lie and say the other bathroom wasn't working? No, the Sand would never let that happen. "I missed you, Wench, and there seemed no good reason not to join you." He waiting for a response, but all he heard was the running water. He strode in the direction of the shower and felt around for the handle. After a moment of fumbling and running his finger along the seam of the door he found a half-moon shaped shallow in the glass and pulled it open.

"Please, no." Sapphire whispered as he stepped into the steam and spray.

"Please," he said, "yes. Trust me, Sapphire. I won't do anything you don't want me too." For one of the longest moments of his life he stood perfectly still, water running down into his unseeing eyes. It felt like a dream, and not a good one. The wench was right here, but he could neither see nor touch her. Jaime sensed her fear and reluctance, knew that she could banish him with a word. "Please don't make me go. Please. I won't touch your face, if you don't want me to." Sapphire sucked in a breath, and he knew his guess had been correct. 

"How did you know -?"

"Give me some credit, Sapphire. Whatever you hide under that mask, aside from your anonymity, troubles you. I've noticed how you always check to be sure you're covered up." Jaime took a step forward, felt the spray splattering as it bounced off of her body and hit his. Inches separated them. "Whatever it is, it's a part of you and that means it's precious to me."

"Right." Her voice was hard, unbelieving.

 Jaime knew that tone too well, recognized the defiance beneath it; he'd heard it often enough from Tyrion. He'd used it himself, when kindness or hope seemed too dangerous to trust. 

"Sapphire, you could be growing thistle crops beneath that mask, or smuggling newly hatched goslings, and it wouldn't change my feelings for you."  

That shook a breath of laughter from her. "Goslings?"

"I'm thinking they feed on the thistles." Jaime lifted his hand, moved it close enough to feel the warmth of her skin without touching it. "Plump goslings are easier to juggle than skinny ones."

"I didn't know that."

"It's true." He extended a finger and ran it down wet skin. Could be an arm, maybe her back? She didn't move away so he shuffled closer and dared to rest four fingertips on her, decided he'd found the rounded curve of her bicep and curled his hand around it. "Please?" He asked again and felt her hand close over his fingers.

An eternity of seconds passed, warm rain upon their heads and rising all around them in the darkness. Finally, Jaime bowed his head and kissed Sapphire's hand, moved his lips over her knobby knuckles and up her arm to her shoulder. It tasted of berries, the barest tang of salt, and her.  

"Do you…do you want the soap?" Sapphire asked.

"Yes." Jaime felt the smooth edge of the bar as she held it against his chest; she must have been holding it when he'd come in. It was soft and slick and he fitted his fingers into the shallow furrows Sapphire's fingers had left in the dissolving bar. "Thank you." He said, and let go of her arm to rub the bar between his hands, rotating it round and round until his palms were coated in creamy suds. "Now where can I set this so we won't slip on it? Here, maybe?" Sapphire laughed as he fumbled around blindly with the bar, gripping her hip with one hand while he reached around like a blind man with the other, knocking the soap against walls, faucet controls, her belly button, and, eventually, a grooved ledge jutting from the tile. "There. Now, to get you clean."

"I can wash myself, you know." Sapphire protested weakly. 

"In the dark? Hardly." Jaime let go of her hip, "Now, you can't see them, but I'm holding my hands up in front of you. They're covered with soap that smells like…uh, something flowery. Roses maybe?" Sapphire made a small, disgusted noise low in her throat. "Oh. You really _don't_ want me to wash you. Do you want me to leave?"

"I don't want you to leave; I'm just not crazy about the scent of roses." Sapphire heaved a sigh, "Please don't ask me why." 

"Maybe it isn't roses. Here, smell –" Jaime took a guess at the location of her nose and held one hand out. He'd have gotten it right if she hadn't leaned forward to sniff at the same instant. She yelped as her face and his soapy palm collided. Sapphire jerked back. Jaime, fearing she'd lose her footing, grabbed at her waist with slippery hands, yanking her forward so abruptly that their upper bodies met with a slap and a splash.

"Why did you grab me?" 

"I was afraid you were going to slip and fall." Jaime made to back away again, but she stilled him with a hand on one forearm.

"I'll just bet you did." Sapphire said, "All of that, 'here are my hands, I'm a perfect gentleman… Subtle."

"I know it seems suspicious, Wench, but I really had only the best intentions. I wanted to respect your private, uh, bubble? Box? Force field?"

"And that's why you're holding me so close even the water can't come between our chests?"

"Yeah, but you notice I'm doing my best to keep 'Thing' at bay." Jaime hoped the way he was twisting his hips away from her didn't result in a cramp.

"You promised not to touch my face." Amusement laced her tone, "Even _your_ cock can't reach that far."

"I…true. But I'm trying not to make this about sex. Well, not _just_ sex..." Jaime rubbed his hands up her back. The water had washed away the soap, but her skin felt warm and slick, just the way he'd imagined it. _Don't fuck this up_. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, did you figure out if it was roses?"

"What?"

"The soap. Does it smell like roses? You got a snoot full of it, so you should be able to tell."

"It's chamomile, as a matter of fact."

"Like the tea?"

"Yes, like the tea, only it doesn't taste a thing like the tea."

"Gods, I'm so sorry –" His apology was halted by her lips descending on his in the briefest of soapy kisses. "Not like the tea at all," he agreed, wisely opting not to spit in the dark shower for reasons of aiming and simple etiquette. 

Sapphire's full-throated laugh echoed in the big bathroom. "When was the last time you had your mouth washed out with soap?"

"I was nine."

"What did you do to deserve it?"

"I never said I deserved it. My aunt Gemma overheard me teaching my little brother to say 'fuck.' He wasn't quite two yet." Jaime chuckled, remembering, "She was too late though. He's been peppering his sentences with it ever since."

"I'd say you deserved it then." Sapphire had relaxed against him, chin on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. 

The tension he'd felt since daring to enter the bathroom melted away. Even his cock had gone soft. He dared to hold her closer. She leaned into him and he could swear he heard humming; likely just the sound of water on tile, though. 

Holding her like this, feeling her breathe in as he breathed out, Jaime felt at peace. The near-urgency he often felt when they were together floated away like mist. Sapphire was so solid, so real in his arms here in the cave-like darkness; just the feel of her skin, the sound of the shower, the hum of…

Wait. _Was_ she humming? Jaime listened, felt the vibration in her chest clearer than he could hear her over the steady beat of water, though her lips were close to his ear. 

"A little louder, Sapphire. I can't make out the tune."

She took a deep breath and increased her volume. The tune was familiar, but Jaime couldn't place it. It rose and fell in pitch, here jaunty and quick, there slower, lower. 

"I know this song, I'm sure of it." Jaime said quietly.

Sapphire stopped humming. "It's the theme to the show 'Ice and Fire.' Do you like it?"

Jaime rested his hand on her lower back and began rocking them slowly from side to side. "It's got a good beat, and you can dance to it." 

"I meant do you like the show? It's kind of a fantasy show, with knights and dragons."

"I know," he said, continuing to sway with her, moving his thighs against hers in the steps of a very slow dance. "Did you know that it's based on a series of books?"

"It used to be." Sapphire resumed humming, letting him guide her, their toes touching as he turned her in a circle. 

Jaime laughed and quoted a line from the book. "'Come on, come on, my sweetling, the music's still playing. Might I have this dance, my lady?'" 

"You've read it?" Sapphire was clearly delighted at this information.

"Thrice." He didn't mention that he'd skipped some of the dull bits his second and third time through. Instead he kept quiet and listened to her hum softly in his ear, his heart full of wonder for the woman in his arms.

"That's it." She said, too soon. "Kind of geeky that I know the whole thing, isn't it?"

"I think it's adorable." Jaime found her lips with his and kissed her soundly. "Now, how about we get clean? Does that sound fun?"

"Almost as much fun as getting dirty with you was. Shampoo or soap first?"

"Soap." Jaime decided. "Are you sure we shouldn't put the lights back on so we don't eat any more of it?"

"Absolutely certain."

"If you're worried about your anonymity, I hope you realize that I'd recognize you anywhere, with or without your mask."

"I suppose," Sapphire agreed, "Not many women are my height, obviously."

"That _would_ be a big clue." Jaime let go of her to search for the soap, laying hands on it almost immediately. He broke the bar in half. "But I'd know you from the way you move, your posture, the way you tilt your head when something is amusing to you. I'd know from the way my heart beats faster when I see you. But most of all, I'd know you by your eyes, my lovely Sapphire."

"Flatterer." 

"So I can turn the lights on?"

"I didn't say that."

Jaime sighed and pressed the lump of soap into her hand. "I'll wash you and you wash me?"

"Yes. I'm going turn the water down, though; make it a drizzle instead of a torrent."   
  
Jaime felt the change as she fiddled with the controls, first making the water pound from the rotating shower heads in an aggressive massage, then swirl around like an airborne lawn sprinkler before settling on a gentle rain.

They both set to making lather. Sapphire put her bar back on the tray and laid both palms on Jaime's chest to circle them in wider and wider arcs until her hands were sweeping over his shoulders and down his belly. It felt wonderful. Could you fall asleep standing up in a shower?

"It's so cute the way one side of your chest is hairier than the other," she mused.

"It is?" 

"Yes, see?" Sapphire took a fingertip and traced it around his left nipple.

"I don't 'see', actually," he joked, "but you can show me when the lights are on." He leaned away from her to put his soap down and began as she had, laying his hands over her breasts and moving them in circles. He may have lingered on her chest longer than she'd done his, but he didn't neglect to circle one nipple with a finger as she'd done. It pebbled under his attention and only the remembered taste of chamomile soap prevented him from licking it when she moaned in pleasure. It was going to be a challenge to keep this from becoming a seduction.

Sapphire moved her hands from his chest to his sides and slid them down to his hips and back up. "Are you ticklish?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I am." He began rubbing her shoulders, digging her fingers in and kneading them and the back of her neck. 

She ran her short fingernails down his ribcage and drew a zigzag line down his belly, ending just where his hair grew thicker before moving on to his hips. It did tickle a bit, but he was too aroused to notice overmuch until she dug her fingers in at his waist and startled a giggle out of him.

She pressed her thumbs in just below his ribs and he doubled over with a gasp of laughter. "I think that maybe you are, just a bit."

"Are _you_ ticklish?" Jaime said, straightening up and trying to shake off the happy little shudders she'd drawn from him. 

"No. I most certainly am not." She was not only indignant, but probably lying as well.

When Jaime put his hands around her waist Sapphire was already chuckling, but her laugh rang out as he found her ticklish spots. They seemed to be everywhere he touched. Before long she was barely able to stand, giggling uncontrollably as she tried to get a grip on his slippery sides without falling. 

He was laughing with her, the feel of her quaking against him in unselfconscious glee unexpected and magical. The two of them might have been no more than teenagers, bathed in sunshine, the smell of fresh mown grass beneath them as they tussled. Not a care in the world, just the uncomplicated joy of being together.

"Stop stop stop," Sapphire gasped, "I'm laughing so hard I'm afraid you'll make me pee."

"Go ahead. We're in a shower after all." 

"Ew, Leo! You're not serious." 

"Serious as Greyscale, darling. Here, want me to shake it out of you?" Jaime tried to lift her, but she slipped right out of his hands. Instead he held her as she caught her breath. "I guess women don't use the shower that way, huh?"

"No. We do not. I couldn't aim and I'd probably splash our feet. We're not getting very clean this way as it is." Sapphire stepped back to get one of the pieces of soap. "Turn around so I can do your back." Jaime did so willingly and she began at his shoulders, massaging them as she worked her way down. "Is this a scar?" She asked, stopping just over his left hip.

"You can feel that? I thought it had faded away to nothing."

"I think my other senses are heightened right now. How did you get it?"

Jaime thought back. "I was about seventeen, out surfing just past the bay of Pentos when some idiot lost his board in a rogue wave and it hit me." He chuckled, "At first I thought a shark had taken a chunk out of me it hurt so badly."

"That sounds scary." Sapphire said, her hands again moving on his skin. "Pentos, huh? Have you been surfing very many places?"

"I have. The privilege of wealth, I guess.  I've tried to surf in places no one in their right mind should."

"Where was the most dangerous place?"

"Have you heard of Shipbreaker Bay?"

Sapphire laughed a little. "I'm familiar with it."

"Then you know the waters there can be very cold and a little rough."

"A little? Leo, they're deadly! You took a board out there?"

"Yeah. There's a scar on my leg to prove it. My knee still aches when wet weather is coming. Destroyed the drysuit I was wearing, too."

"Your butt seems blemish free," Sapphire announced, cupping his bum in her soapy hands. "It would have been a shame to mar such perfection." 

Jaime held his breath. She was taking her duties quite seriously, and when she pushed her hand between his legs to wash his balls he tried not to groan with pleasure. She didn't linger; continuing instead down his inner thighs and the backs of his legs. 

When she got to his knees, she felt around them, searching.  "Is this the scar from Shipbreaker Bay?" She asked when she'd found it on his right kneecap. "I think I've noticed it on you before. It healed well, didn't it?"

"I was back on the board in a couple of months," Jaime replied. "Isn't it my turn to do your back?"

"Sure. I'd say you're clean as a Septa's mind back here."

"You must not know any Septas, then. I've met a couple with decidedly lusty minds."

"Leo – did you sleep with a Septa?" Sapphire's feigned outrage quickly gave way to curiosity. "How old were you?"

"I did no such thing. Anyway, they were only around long enough to tutor my brother, and he's the one who told me."

"Did your brother -?"

"No, but he spied on them. Apparently they were same-sex oriented. I believe he got quite a show, hiding in their closet as he was."

"Your brother sounds like quite a character. I almost wish I could meet him someday."

"I'd like you to." Jaime took her hand and positioned her where he'd been standing so that his back blocked some of the water. 

His cock was rock hard again, and visions of bending Sapphire over and rutting like a couple of beasts filled his head. Time enough for that later, maybe. For now he rubbed the soap directly on her back in meandering swirls and swoops until she was well covered. Once the soap was back on its holder he began to work the suds over her, going so far as to lift each arm and scrub beneath it.

"I forgot to do your armpits. Sorry." He began kneading her back and shoulders. "Gods that feels delicious. Where'd you learn to massage like that?"

"I didn't, sweetling. Maybe I'm just inspired at the moment, hm?" He used both hands to lather her right arm, coming to a stop when he felt a raised line on the skin above her elbow. "Here we go then. Shall we trade war stories, m'lady? How did you get this one?"

"It was…it was an accident."

"What kind of accident?" Jaime slid his hands down her other arm. "I feel a lot of very faint scars on this one. By the Seven, where you set upon by vicious sprites armed with pocket knives? How come I haven't noticed them before?"

"They're camouflaged by my freckles. They're nothing, really. Healed and…forgotten." 

After that Jaime noticed more and more barely perceptible welts on her left side. He brushed a fingertip over each one, filled with regret that his touch couldn't heal her of whatever had happened. There were scars on her left hip and thigh as well, but not on her bottom. He went to his knees behind her and smoothed the lather down, following the luscious curves, smoothing the soap round and round.

"Could I really be that dirty back there, Leo?" Sapphire sounded more relaxed, now he'd stopped seeking out old injuries.  
  
"Sorry, Wench. I'm just mesmerized." He cupped her rear and let his thumbs play along the seam of her arse, "Is it wrong to worship something besides the gods?"

"You're ridiculous."

"If it's ridiculous to be smitten with your body, then I am happy to be that. Ah, Wench, you don't know how you affect me." Jaime leaned his cheek against one of hers, but forbore to kiss its sudsy surface. "Can I wash your hair now?"

"If you like. I saw some shampoo just above the soap tray."

Jaime found two smallish bottles right where she'd said. He opened the first one and tested a drop between his fingers. It felt slick and soft; probably hair conditioner. The consistency of the other was thinner and the scent more intense. He poured a glob of it in his palm. "Ready?"

"Go ahead," Sapphire said.

Jaime rubbed his hands together and then into Sapphire's wet hair. Things were going so well thus far that it made him bold. "So," he started conversationally, "This mark that you hide with your mask, is it connected with however you got all those scars on your left side?"

Silence followed, stretching thin and uncomfortable between them until Jaime realized he was still working shampoo through Sapphire's fine hair. It was now so clean it nearly squeaked between his fingers. At least she hadn't pulled away.  

"Do you want conditioner?" He tried to sound casual, though now that he'd dared to ask he realized how desperately he wanted to solve the mystery behind her mask. 

"I don't usually condition," She said dully, "It tends to weigh down my hair. But you can use it on me, if you want to." 

Jaime turned away to get the other bottle. "Can you turn up the water to rinse your hair?" The flow of water soon increased as she did what he'd asked.

Before he could start on her hair again, Sapphire cleared her throat nervously. "It did happen at the same time as the others. It's a scar. A big one."

Jaime rubbed conditioner in her hair. "And you don't want me to see it?"

"No, I don't. Not really."

"Do you also wear a mask in public?"

"No, of course not. How could I live my life that way? And a mask would draw even more attention to my face, which is what I don't want." 

"So you let everyone else see your scar, but you won't show me? You can't believe that I would judge you for something like that."

"I know, Leo. But," she sighed, gathering her thoughts. Jaime sluiced water through her hair with his hands to rinse it. "But I don't want this scar to be what you remember about me; 'tall woman with hideous scar.' If you remember me at all when this is all over, let it be for how good we are together. That's all I want."

"It's not all _I_ want." Jaime's voice was rough, sounding almost angry even to him. "Isn't this whole D/s thing about trust? Isn't that what the past several weeks have been about? I'd trust you with my life, Sapphire, with my darkest secrets and my fondest hopes." A sharp ache had settled in his chest; if she wouldn't give him even this much of herself, what business did he have imagining a future with her?

"Would you settle for a compromise, Leo? If I let you touch it, would that satisfy your curiosity?"

Curiosity wasn't the word he might have used, but instead of arguing about it he kissed her. "I'll be gentle." He reached up and cupped her jaw with his left hand, then brushed his thumb over her skin, from below her right eye and across her cheek. He felt her eyelashes brush his thumb as she closed her eyes. He followed the raised weal that ran diagonally across her cheekbone. It was probably three inches long, he figured, and the wound had taken several stitches or staples to close, if the marks radiating from it were anything to go by. 

It wasn't as prominent as he'd imagined. Raised enough to be very visible in the light, he decided. He knew how cruel people could be, and a scar even a third of its size would have set her apart. Add that to her height…"Does it hurt still?" He asked.

"Not anymore. In fact, there are some parts of it that I can't feel at all. The doctors told me I'd have some nerve damage." 

Jaime kissed it. "Did you feel that?"

"I…um, I felt it a little bit." Sapphire told him. "No one other than me has ever touched it before. Well, obviously the doctors that treated me did."

"What happened?"

"Car accident." 

"A bad one, I think." 

"Yes." She said in a tone of finality. 

Before she could change the subject, Jaime ran his hand down her left arm, "And the other scars? What happened to you?"

"I don't ever talk about it, Leo. If I did, I know –" her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath, "I know that I…" 

The pain in her voice had Jaime gathering her into his arms. She ducked her head, pressing her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder. "It's alright, sweetling. You don't talk about it because…?"

"Because of this, Leo. Because I can't relive it without tears. Tears are _weak_." She'd begun to tremble, was taking in great gulps of air to calm herself. 

"Tears are not weak. Sometimes they're healing, Wench." Jaime felt the weight of her misery, how even in his arms she held herself apart, no yielding softness in her at all.

"It's just so hard, Leo. I think I've moved on, just a little bit. And then - then something sets it off, like the smell of petrol –" She shuddered to a stop, and Jaime felt tears on his shoulder, warmer than the water cascading over them.

"What about the smell, Sapphire? Was a lot of fuel spilled when your car crashed?"

"Yes. It was foggy. The kind of thick fog you get just a few miles inland? It came up fast, rolled in from the sea. It was so cold. The heater was on, and my brother Galladon noticed a burning smell; he was telling me that my car needed a tune up, and I wanted to argue. I always took care of my cars. I was better at it than he was.

"And then I smelled it, too, the instant before we were lost in the fogbank. It was petrol, and oil, and I braked. I stomped down _so hard_ on that pedal…" She lifted her head to swipe at the tears streaming down her face. "Then we were sliding sideways. I know it took only seconds, but it was like we were suspended in that fog, weightless, no sound, just Galladon and I in a world of white, like everything else had disappeared forever. And for that instant it was kind of… _beautiful,"_ She paused, the final word caught on a sob _. "_ And then we hit the first car."

Sapphire slumped against him, the tension as broken as her voice, and Jaime held tight, didn't interrupt. "Galladon…the passenger side slammed into a big sedan. I didn't know what it was until later. Glass shattered, metal and everything else just twisted and there was a roar like a hurricane, and we bounced – actually bounced – off of that car and into another. I thought Galladon had taken off his seatbelt and was trying to get in my seat with me. Protecting me just like when we were little kids." Sapphire began to sob in earnest, "My big brother, always looking out for me." 

Jaime helped her to sit on the shower floor with him, rocking her and stroking her back, his own tears mingling, unnoticed, with the water on his face. He reached up to shut off the water. 

"I woke up on a stretcher. I don't know how much time had passed. The fog hadn't cleared, and the blue lights of the ambulances were flashing, like crazy lightning striking everywhere. I could hear sirens, and I was confused because help was already there. I was glad, because Galladon might need them. I saw more stretchers with people on them. I sat up and called his name, wishing the sirens would stop so he could hear me. I thought the tide must have gone out, because it had that smell – you know the stench that some coastlines get?" She paused, and Jaime realized she wanted him to answer.

"I know it."

"I didn't know before that blood could smell like that. Or more than just blood. Carnage. I had to find Galladon." She lapsed into silence, taking deep breaths as Jaime caressed her hair.  "They tried to keep me on that stretcher, said I was hurt, but I was bigger than any of them, and they couldn't keep me there. I'd gotten hit pretty hard in the head, and I staggered at first. He wasn't on _any_ of the stretchers. I wandered through the fog and finally found him out on the edges of the wreck near an overturned truck. He was covered by a checkered blanket, like a tablecloth for a picnic? You know the sort." 

Jaime nodded, "Yes, I know what you mean." He wished he could see her face, somehow save her from this memory that he'd provoked. 

"I didn't look under it, but I knew it was him because I recognized his shoe, sticking out. Hardly anyone wears a shoe that size, and besides, I'd given them to him for Winterfest the year before. They were a joke, really, with patches of the ugliest neon green and orange you've ever seen. But he loved those shoes, Leo.

"I think I must have lain down there next to him, or maybe fallen. I don't know. Something had sliced my cheek and it was bleeding a lot. The other cuts weren't so bad, and they'd mostly stopped until they pried the bits of glass and debris out of them at hospital hours later. I don't know how long I stayed there next to Galladon before they hauled me off the ground and took me to the hospital."

"Was the hospital very far away?"  

"Not very. It was the very hospital we'd been on our way to. My father was there, you see. He'd had a stroke the week before, but he was improving. We were bringing him something to read and some tins of mackerel curry; they don't serve that to patients, and his craving it was a good sign."

She didn't speak again for several minutes. The tile was hard under them, water had beaded on their skin and though it was still warm in the bathroom, Jaime was chilled. He worried that Sapphire would be as well.  "I'm going to get some towels for us, love. Do you know where they are?"

"I can get them," She offered. "There's a little alcove protected from the water."

"No, you just stay here." Jaime started to get up and Sapphire scooted away from him. "I'll be right back."  
Feeling his way along the wall he soon found the corner that led to the inset where folded towels waited. They were thick, fluffy, and warm from some heat source beneath the smooth marble. Jaime grabbed all of them and brought them back to their spot on the floor. He still couldn't see, but his sense of the space around him had improved. He spread two of the towels on the floor. "Here, Wench, let's sit on these. It might be more comfortable."

"Oh. They're warm. Thank you."

Jaime sat down behind her and pulled her gently against him so that she was almost in his lap and draped another large towel over her. She yawned and let him wrap his arms around her. She was a big woman, broad as him through the shoulders and solidly built, but he cradled her like a child. "So you were in the hospital at the same time as your father?" he prompted.

"Yes. I didn't get to see him right away, though. They sedated me, and after they'd dealt with the more serious casualties from the accident they stitched up my face. By the time I woke up someone had already told him about Galladon."

"I'm so sorry, sweetling. He must have been devastated, but at least his daughter survived. I hope that was some comfort to him."

"I don't know," she sounded worn and hoarse, but calm. "While I slept he had what they called a 'small myocardial infarction.' A heart attack. Not so small combined with the stroke and the news that his only son was dead. He'd already lost my mum years before, and my two infant sisters. I visited him as soon as I was able to stand and walk. They warned me that he was still unconscious. I could sit with him, they said, but he wouldn't realize I was there."

"I'm sure he must have sensed your presence though. It probably helped." 

"What help is there for a man who's lost hope, Leo? I spent more time at his bedside than I did in my room. We weren't even on the same floor, didn't have the same doctors. The nurses had to come in and change my bandages there, which played havoc with their schedules. I could tell they were irritated, but I didn't care." 

Jaime stroked her already drying hair, wishing he could think of anything to say that wouldn't sound trite. She stretched out and rested her head on his thigh, and when she finally spoke again it was without inflection, like she'd said it before and it was all rote. "He never woke up. They tell me it was a peaceful way to go."

"Assholes," Jaime muttered.

"Damn straight. Thank you. If I had a silver stag for every comforting platitude I heard after my father's death... They had a harder time with my brother's. I think someone tried to tell me he went quickly. How do they know? How _do_ you measure time when your life is being ripped away?" 

She was clearly trying to pull herself together. Jaime hoped it wasn't for his sake. "I'm so sorry, Sapphire. It’s a terrible thing, to lose someone you love. I lost my mother when I was seven. She died after giving birth to Tyr – to my brother. All the modern medicine in the world, and something like that took her away from me."

"I'm so sorry, Leo. I lost my mother so young that I barely remember her. Losing your mum at that age must have seemed like the end of the world."

"It really did. My father isn't the warmest human being, and my new brother wasn't much of a replacement for mum, to my thinking. I hated him at first. I was a spoiled, selfish child, and I'd already been worried that he'd get too much of her attention when he was born." 

"As any kid would. Did your father try to help you get through it?"

"Hah. He was angrier at the baby than I could ever be. Even at that age I knew a parent should love their child, and I think that's when I started to love my little brother in place of both parents. He needed our mother more than I did; his was the greater loss." 

"How could any father be so cruel? He started to love him when the grief faded, didn't he?" Sapphire sat up and moved to sit across from him in the dark, taking his hands in hers.

"If he did he never really showed it. I believe he stopped hating him after a while, but what little heart he had belonged to Mother. He provided for us, of course, and my brother had some special needs which were efficiently seen to by other people. I made it my mission to keep him happy in other ways. I carried him everywhere before he learned to walk, and stood up for him when he needed it. It was us against the world. I can hardly imagine how awful it was for you to lose your brother _and_ your father."

"Thank you. Thank you for being so kind and for listening. I'm sorry I cried all over you." She squeezed his hand and Jaime returned the pressure. "I've never done that before. Not even with Rose. After the funerals I quit my job, used some of my inheritance to buy a run-down house that I could fix up. Hide out where people wouldn't stare at my scar."

"Was your wound so bad that they couldn't fix it?" Jaime realized right away how that sounded, and tried to backtrack, "I mean, not that it needs fixing..."

"The doctors wanted to. It would have taken a few surgeries, but they said there'd hardly be any scarring. I told them 'no.'"

Jaime disentangled one hand from hers and raised it to touch her face again. "It's not all that big, really. But it must bother you, or you wouldn't be hiding it from me in the first place. Why did you decide not to have the surgeries? Were you just done with hospitals?"

"No, that wasn't it, and I know that the accident wasn't officially my fault, but I was the one driving. I should have been paying closer attention to the road, should have noticed that fogbank and stopped outside of it. I killed both my brother and my father, in a way. It didn't seem right that I survived and was barely injured."

"You kept the scar out of guilt?" Jaime's voice registered only mild curiosity, but the thought of her dealing with such a tragedy alone made him want to weep. 

"I did. Guilt, punishment, atonement; call it what you will."

"I think I understand. My brother carried that kind of guilt about our mother, too, when he was old enough to understand such things. I think it twisted him a little. Neither of you were to blame."

"Perhaps not, but I was already homely, so what was a scar to me?"

"We can disagree on that point, Wench." Jaime thought for a moment. "But if it doesn't matter, why do you hide it from me?"

"I guess I thought this might be the one place where I could be someone else." She reached out to touch his face, "And maybe you're the one person – the one man – I can be that someone else for."

"Are you someone other than yourself though, really?"

"Sometimes, I suppose. I'm bolder here than I could ever be in real life."

"Maybe at first, but I don't believe you're faking anything when you're with me now." He was pushing and he knew it. He hoped it was worth the risk of making her withdraw again. Jaime took her hands in his again, just in case. "If we were together outside the club would you act any differently?" 

"I doubt our paths would have crossed outside of the club, but if they did, there's no way we'd get together."

"How can you know that?"

"Honestly, Leo, can you be so blind? I'd probably go out of my way to avoid you, and you wouldn't look at me with anything approaching desire."

"Why would you avoid me?"

Sapphire dropped her hand from his face, impatient. "How can I explain this so you'll understand? You're a handsome, confident man, and one who carries himself with a certain arrogance besides. Do you think I _want_ to be noticed by someone like that? I wish I could tell you that an attractive man's disdain means nothing to me, that I'm comfortable enough in my own skin not to care what they think." She gave a sharp bark of laughter, "Mostly I _don't_ care, but I'd just rather avoid it, when I can."

"How can you be sure _I'd_ act like that?"  
  
"Oh, please. You probably wouldn't even realize you were doing it. And even if you were the exception and didn't look at me like I was a freak, how would I know that? Would you go out of your way to approach someone like me?"

"Probably not," Jaime admitted, "but I don't go out of my way to approach women anyway."

"Uh huh. Because women probably approach you all the time, am I right?"

"I never thought of it that way."

"And if someone like me smiled at you and was friendly, you'd assume I was flirting with you, too."

"Maybe."

"Or you'd think someone as ugly as me couldn't possibly be flirting with the likes of you."

"You're misjudging me, Sapphire."

"But I am not misjudging most men. How could I know that you weren't 'most men'?"

"If after all we've done together you can't see that, maybe you have the right of it; we don't stand a chance outside the club. Honestly, Sapphire, you talk about men only judging you by your looks, but isn't that what you've been doing with me? It's a little insulting." Jaime withdrew his hands and crossed his arms over his chest, then realized that the full effect of his displeasure would be lost since she couldn't see him. Sapphire stayed mute and didn't try to reclaim his hands. "In case you don't realize it, Wench, I'm pouting."

"Is your bottom lip pooched out?"

"What?"

"It's not true pouting unless your bottom lip is sticking out. There should be glowering as well."

"Damn it, girl, let a man pout without making him feel like a doofus."

"I'll try." She was silent for a long time. They seemed to be at an impasse. Jaime was about to break it when she leaned in close and bumped her nose against. 

"Did you just boop my nose, or was that an accident?"

Sapphire kissed him. "You are not most men, Leo. You're unlike any man I've ever known."

"That's because there are no other men like me. Just me."

"Just you," She agreed and brushed her fingers through his damp hair. "Shall we wash your mane now?"

"It's fine. I'd rather get off of this floor and spend what time we have left in a dry bed."

"That sounds nice. Do you want to go first and put your mask back on?"

"No, I don't. I want to lie next to you and look at your face and let you look at mine. I'm tired of disguises."

"I don't think I'm ready for that."

"In that case, I propose another compromise." Jaime started to get up. Water had pooled under his ass and it squelched as he stood. His legs and hips were stiff. "I'll go out first and turn off the lights in the room. I'll get on the bed and wait for you. Deal?"

"Alright. I'm bringing my mask out with me though."

"You can set it nearby. I want you _completely_ naked, understood?"

"Is that an order, ser?"

"Yes, if that means you'll obey it."

"I'll leave it off for now." Sapphire gave him a little push toward the shower door. "I'll be out in a couple of minutes."

Jaime stepped out, feeling around with hands and feet for his mask. He accidentally kicked it and it skittered away across the floor. He could hear Sapphire laughing as he cursed the thing, feeling around with his toes to locate it. Once he had it in his hands he realized he might have another problem. "Uh, Sapphire? I really need to pee. I can leave the lights off and guess, or I can turn them on for a sec and promise not to look."

"Or you could use the other bathroom." 

"I suppose I could do." He sighed, opening the door and blinking at the low light coming from the bedroom. He tossed the mask on the bed and availed himself of the other loo before coming out to extinguish the lights. 

The controls adjusted the inset lighting, but not the fairy lights woven into the canopy of weirwood. They twinkled overhead, illuminating the bed no more than a forest of fireflies might. Deeming it fair enough, he set his mask on the side table and got under the duvet.

He hadn't long to wait. Sapphire came out of the bathroom and paused at the threshold, a still silhouette framed against the unlit bathroom. "There are still lights on in here," she said, "I'm going to put my mask back on."

"Can you see me?"

"What?"

"Can you see me in this light?" Jaime asked. 

"I can see you there in the bed." 

"Can you make out my features, Wench?"

She took two steps nearer, and he could make out just enough of her to see her hand raised to cover her scar, the mask clutched in her other hand. "Not really," she admitted, "Mostly the shine of your eyes and the lights in your hair."

"Then come here." He lifted the blanket and she approached, setting her mask down before crawling in next to him. Close up, her features were clearer and his heart beat a little faster to see her big eyes looking into his and not framed by the slanted eyeholes of her mask. The lights dappled her like illuminated freckles and he reached out to follow the curve of one broad cheekbone to her jaw. "Hullo," he whispered, "It's good to see you, if only this much."

Her lips curved into a smile and she smoothed the hair from his brow. "I never expected to see so much of you."

"It's true that most women I'm intimate with see my pecker long before they get a good look at my eyebrows." He joked.

"Their loss." She snuggled closer. "I need to tell you something."

"You do?" 

"Yes. It's not a big deal or anything. I just wanted to let you know that I might have to go out of town on business next week, and it's possible that I'll miss a session. It hasn't been scheduled yet."

"How is that not a big deal?" Jaime recalled Olyvar's jovial advice of earlier in the week, about Paramours having permission to play if their partner were absent. He'd worried about what would happen if Sapphire were without him at the club, but the thought of being here without her…

"I mentioned it to Ellaria, and she told me what usually happens when one Paramour can't be here." She was gazing into his eyes, quite serious. "She suggested I tell you, um…" she licked her lips, hesitant.

"Tell me what?" Jaime felt a knot form in his belly. Could she really say it was fine for him to be with another woman after all they'd shared tonight?

"She said I should tell you to find your pleasure with someone else for a night." The words tumbled from her in a rush. "She told me it would strengthen our bond. Enhance our trust."

"Is that what you want?" Jaime's throat was tight. 

"No. No! It's not what I want. Now that we're Paramours…no, not just because we're Paramours, Leo. I don't want to share you. In this one thing I want to be selfish. I don't want you to be intimate with anyone else here."

The knot loosened. "I don't want to be with anyone else."

"But there's something else, too. Something I need to tell you." 

"Go on." Jaime urged.

"Now that we are Paramours, I want you to know that, from now until we part for good," her voice faltered on _for good_ , "I won't be with anyone else. Not here at the club, not outside of it."

"Are you saying you want to be monogamous?" 

"I'm saying _I_ will be. That's all."

"Would you like for _us_ to be monogamous?"

"I'm not asking for –" 

He interrupted her. "Don't ask then. Until we part for good, I am yours." He kissed her lips, her eyelids, her damaged cheek and her whole one. "And you are mine." The words were from an arcane marriage ceremony, remembered from some musty story of knights and ladies, long forgotten until this moment. They felt right, but they weren't all he wanted to say. 

Sapphire was smiling at him, a smile so warm it wrapped around him like a downy blanket on a cool night. Her eyes were pools of twilit blue, the tiny lights reflecting in them like stars. Would a moment such as this come again? 

"I love you," he said, and kissed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, too much time has passed between updates. Sorry. We appreciate your patience, and even more than that, we love your comments! That they continued to come in during the long gap in posting definitely influenced this chapter finally getting finished. I hope that it was worth the wait!


	24. Mr. Lannister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets Mr. Lannister at last and travels to Braavos.

The moon was full, the stars beyond its corona like diamond dust scattered across the velvet sky. In the west, the pale moonlight limned the curving hills beyond the castle, their valleys deep in indigo shadow. The air was warm and laced with jasmine, honeysuckle and just a hint of manure rising from the pasture along the road. 

Brienne's car was waiting in the drive, the idling of its powerful engine a low purr among the chirp of crickets and the gurgle of marble fountains. She nodded to the doorman and stepped off the low curb, a gentle breeze stirring the skirt of her dress as she walked. 

The driver's-side door was being held open by a handsome valet, who offered his hand. Brienne, feeling faintly ludicrous, let him 'help' her into the car. "Do be careful on your way down Miss, the fog is quite thick tonight," he advised her, "If you've got fog lamps, you may wish to use them."

"Is it? I will then. Thank you." Brienne buckled her seatbelt, set her mask on the seat, and started down the hill, lowering her window as she drove.  Within a quarter of a mile, the dark ribbon of road vanished into a swelling sea of fog stretching to the horizon. Brienne slowed the car, and then stopped altogether. She knew this road, had ridden along it as a passenger with Margaery, yet fear tingled in her chest at the thought of navigating those steep curves, alone in the dense fog. 

If she lingered a moment or two, then the next driver out could lead the way. _A good plan, except that the next one down this road will be Leo._ They'd only just parted, and though he knew she'd driven by herself to the club, Leo hadn't repeated his request to have coffee together afterwards. Not that she _would_ , had he asked, but she couldn't bear for him to think she was here just waiting for him. 

Brienne gathered her courage with a sigh, shifted into neutral and let the car coast down into the fog, leaning in to the wheel and peering over the long hood of the car at the overgrown grass and, more importantly, the dim thread of asphalt picked out by her lights. _You can do this,_ she encouraged herself, as she glided down through curve after curve, left foot poised over the brake pedal. As she came closer to sea level, the mist thinned, until Brienne caught a gleam of ocean in the distance and accelerated.

A massive _thing_ reared up out of nowhere in front of her. Panicking, Brienne stomped the brakes and the car skidded to the opposite side, slowly, the side wheels dropping a sickening six inches or so off the road.

With a single cloven hoof resting daintily on the worn pavement, one of the castle's resident bison raised its big woolly head and gazed incuriously at the car that had come to a stop across the road, and then went back to chewing cud. Chagrinned, Brienne shifted into drive and eased the car over clumps of wet grass and rocks until all four tires were back on the road. Moments later, she was gratefully turning north onto the main highway. 

The sea was a dark mass to her left, the tumble of its waves a subdued roar in the distance. The water would be rushing in now, pining for the rounded moon. Growing up on an island, Brienne had learned a great deal about the tides and the many moods of the sea.

With the wind cool in her hair, she found herself thinking about a long-ago picnic, a rare afternoon when her father had found the time to drive her and Galladon up to one of the grassy bluffs overlooking Shipbreaker Bay. The sun had been especially bright, after a stormy night and morning. She'd been allowed to choose a flat spot for the big raggedy blanket they'd packed; right beneath a giant oak that was just beginning to turn autumn gold. Father had taken a corner in each hand and unfurled the cloth like a grand patchwork flag, before letting it settle onto the shady grass.

The wind had been blowing that day, and she and Galladon ran to find rocks to anchor the edges of the blanket, which had already become soaked from the wet grass. No one had minded, though. Even all these years later, Brienne could almost taste the goat cheese, rich and melty on her tongue, and smell the cold smoked salmon that had brought the seagulls crying and swooping to their secluded outlook. Galladon had handed out glass bottles of lemon soda, laughing when her's fizzed over and dribbled down her shirt. Father had scolded him for shaking it before offering it to his little sister, and she'd felt tacky all day.

Eleven year-old Brienne had watched, as ant-sized people dug for clams down on the shore and half a dozen teenagers had stood coolly on the beach, with their fancy kites soaring out over the sea, while a little brown dog ran back and forth along the line of water, intent on yapping the nylon dragons from the sky. Leo had told her earlier tonight that he'd surfed the very waters they'd picnicked above on that long ago day, possibly back when she still lived on Tarth. No one had been surfing the day of the picnic though, the waves not yet calm as the storm moved out to sea again. 

Had Leo done anything other than surf when he was there? Had he and his brother walked the beach looking for shells? It was seldom very warm off of Shipbreaker Bay, and Brienne pictured the brothers in hoodies, their rubber boots making tracks in the sand. Just two handsome blonde lads on holiday, the younger one showing off, perhaps, trying to make Leo laugh. She could picture him, and the mocking smile he'd give his much-loved sibling. 

Before tonight, she hadn't believed he would look very different without a mask, but he had. Lying there with him in the near-darkness, she'd noticed the shallow lines like a cat's whiskers, fanning from the outer edges of his eyes when he smiled, and the expressive way he'd lowered one dusky eyebrow when he'd told her _I love you_.

And once again, driving along this dark highway, her heart turned over and she caught her breath in wonder. Of course she'd imagined him saying _I love you_ , many times; in the rain, or on the beach, at her front door, in her bed, in a letter decades from now, when those three words could give no one any comfort. And she'd said it to him as well, in her dreams. Brienne knew those words and the shape of them in her mouth, even though she'd never before spoken them to him out loud. 

And still hadn't, even now.

After his kiss, that tender, nearly chaste kiss, he'd smiled, and for what seemed a long time they'd just looked at one another. Leo wasn't expecting her to say she loved him as well, that much she knew. There was nothing she could she give back that was worth even half the value of his words. She'd just taken his hand under the covers and held it, letting the pressure of her fingers say what she could not. 

Afterwards they'd donned their masks again, dressed, looked around one last time and left the room. Back in the main area they'd stopped to talk with a few other members who'd called them over to tell them about the demo they'd missed. There was talk of a sign-up sheet going around, but she'd no clue what it might be for.

She _had_ noticed one man in particular with distinctive red hair and a wild beard looking at her so hungrily that Leo had put his arm around her waist possessively and led her away. Her thoughts had been so engaged in wondering if Leo would ask her to meet him somewhere that she'd missed most of the conversation anyway.

If he had asked, would she have been able to tell him 'no' after he'd held her while she cried? After he'd said he loved her?

Hot Pie's Gravy Boat was coming up, the delicious smell of baking coming through the open window before she could see the neon lights of the restaurant. Her stomach rumbled. A piece of rhubarb pie, warmed, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream would be really good right then. And coffee, with lots of cream. Maybe she'd even put a spoonful of her ice cream in it when no one was watching. 

She turned into the gravel lot and parked in the first open space. She was about to get out of the car when she remembered her outfit; the wrinkled dress, no bra. Her hair was all frowzy as well. She remembered Leo smiling as he smoothed back a bit that was sticking up, back in their room. 

It wouldn't do, even this late at night, to be seen in public. She pulled back out of the parking space and waited until a sleek sports car moving too fast for her comfort went by. She pulled out behind it to merge onto the road, noticing it was a vintage Shadowcat before it sped out of sight.

The rest of the drive seemed to take forever, emotional exhaustion taking its toll as she fought to focus on the road. Brienne felt a surge of relief when she finally made it home with barely enough energy to pour some fresh kibble into Grumkin's dish before falling into bed. 

*~*~*

Friday dawned entirely too early for Brienne, cracking her eyes open five minutes before her alarm went off. She took out her tablet and let the light from the screen wake her up gradually as she checked Whisky Lovers. 

There was nothing new from CaskSlayer, either in messages or on the board, just as there hadn't been when she'd gotten home from the club. She'd so hoped for some indication from CaskSlayer that he'd had a particularly fine night, or felt the need to impart hopeful romantic advice to his buddy Whisky Peat.

She'd been so anxious about his feelings from the night before that she'd woken up no less than five times during the night to check the site. It was funny how quickly she'd come to expect this window into Leo's world to provide a needed fix.

A post she'd made sat lonely and uncommented on, and she reread it to see if any edits would garner more interest, perhaps lure CaskSlayer into one of his clever responses:

Whisky_Peat: I was wondering what kind of triggers make our esteemed board members want to reach for a dram or a bottle of whisky? Maybe a certain time of day, a specific room, a smell, maybe even the sight of particular people? Chime in! 

It seemed fine as it was, if devoid of humor. Brienne was too tired to come up with anything cleverer; it had taken an hour to come up with the post as it was. She switched to MyFace, found it a dull substitute for WL, and decided to preemptively turn off her alarm and get out of bed.

She really should take a run this morning. She eyed her track suit, neatly folded and waiting on a chair, and reluctantly approached it. The sun rising outside was bright, full of promise and enthusiasm. The polyester pants and shirt just lay there looking grey and listless. Brienne decided she identified more strongly with the latter and decided a long shower would do her more good.

Afterwards she took her time having breakfast and packing her lunch before leaving for the office. When she arrived it was a typical slow Friday morning, and other than a discussion with Lab Tech Tarly over whether the plastic container in the fridge labelled "Dr. Qyburn" was a biological specimen or his lunch, she decided it was time to take a break.

When she checked her drawer for the sack she'd put her sandwich and granola bar into she discovered it wasn't there. Deciding it had to still be in the car, Brienne locked her computer screen and went out to retrieve it. She walked down the corridor and past the reception desk where the new secretary was on the phone. By the way she was laughing and smiling, Brienne doubted it was even a business call.

As expected, her lunch sack was on the front seat.  Brienne grabbed it and hurried back to the building, anxious to sit down for an hour or so with her tablet and lunch. Pia was just ending her phone call with many _looking forward to its_ and _you, toos_.  

Brienne smiled and nodded at her as she went by, but had only gone a few steps before she heard Pia calling, "Dr. Tarth! I've just taken a message for you!" Turning in surprise, Brienne walked back and looked expectantly at the young woman. "I've only just taken this for you," Pia said, holding up a piece of paper.

"Just now? I thought you were on a personal call," Brienne said, accepting the message. "What is this? I can't read any of your writing, Pia. And why are there little hearts drawn all over it?"

"Oh, sorry about that, Dr. Tarth. It kinda started out business-like, but then we got to talking." She tilted her head, looking up at Brienne, "Do you know Mr. Lannister's Personal Assistant? Is he cute?"

"I've never met Mr. Lannister or his secretary, sorry," Brienne told her, staring hard at the writing until the word "Monday" resolved out of curly squiggles.

"Well, we have a date on Wednesday! We're going to the Darry. Isn't that exciting?" Pia twirled her chair around, stopping as she saw the scowl on Brienne's face. "And, uh, you're going to Braavos on Monday, Dr. Tarth. Mr. Lannister will pick you up at home at eight-thirty. I gave them your address. I hope that was okay."

"That's fine. AM or PM?" 

"Oh, y'know, I didn't ask. Anyway, Jos, that's Mr. Lannister's P.A., is going to fax your tentarary over," the phone rang again and Pia reached for it, "I'll bring it to you as soon as I figure out how to change the ink cartridge on the printer, okay?"

Brienne deciding not to mention her mispronunciation of _itinerary_ , set the useless paper back on her desk and left Pia to her new call. She'd need to plan on what to send Leo before her trip on Monday, and once she got the travel details she'd know whether or not she would be missing the Thursday session. 

Back at her desk she took out her tablet and phone, arranged her lunch and went to the drink machine in the lunch room to buy a cold soda. When she returned the message light on her cell was flashing. She sat down and opened it.

Hyle Hunt: hey babe i was thinking about our date and i'm not mad at you anymore. call me.

Brienne extended one long forefinger with distaste and swiped to delete the message. _As if_. She took out her sandwich and took a bite before launching WL on her tablet. Her heart made a little leap when she saw she had a message there. 

**BarrelAged** : I've looked everywhere for cheesy bears and can't find any, not even online. Where did you find yours? BTW, have you tried Sriracha Peas with whisky yet?

Brienne sighed. Could she lie to him about having had any cheesy bears to begin with? Yes, she could:

Whisky_Peat: You know, I found mine in the back of the pantry, so they may have been quite old to begin with. I have not tried Sriracha Peas with whisky or otherwise.

She sent it and checked her post again. Two replies, neither from CaskSlayer: 

SingleMaltedMan: Trigger? Is that some new-agey term I'm supposed to know? In any case, I find the smell of a good steak or the thought of sex does it for me.

MaltTeaseFalcon: In other words, SingleMaltedMan, you mean all the time? Lol. For me it's when Winter comes and it gets dark at four-fucking-thirty in the afternoon. The longer the winter the more I drink. I nearly emptied my cellar during the winter of '08 – 12.

While gratified that she'd generated some discussion, these comments weren't what Brienne had hoped to see. Instead she turned her attention to thinking up something to send to Leo through the club. 

She immediately discarded the idea of sending him sexy underwear or something whisky-related. Same for erotic poetry or pastries. In desperation, she searched for an online sex-toy store for ideas. Clicking the first link that came up took her to the gaudy website for Septon Cellador's Sex Shoppe, "Delectable, Divine, and Discreet, Guaranteed!" 

Brienne looked around quickly to be sure no one was about to sneak up and catch her looking at the brightly colored sex toys on the front page. She tapped on the "Toys for Couples" link and was directed to a page with a grip of thumbnail pictures showing everything from strap-on dildos to sex swings and vibrating cock rings. 

Just over a month ago a list like this might have made her blush, but it seemed pretty tame now. They used generic rubber models to display the gear, and Brienne had a chuckle over the expressionless manikin displaying the nipple clamps with fluffy feathers dangling from them. She'd never tried something like that herself, but she doubted any chained clips with pink marabou tassels were in her future.  

Nothing there appealed to her as a gift for Leo, not that much of it didn't send her imagination racing. They'd still not gotten certified on the sex swing, and just about every vibrator and cock ring under the sun was available in the bedrooms at the club. Still, the site had given her an idea. 

If she could get what she'd decided on ready an into the Sand corporate offices by Saturday night or Sunday, it could reach Leo early in the week. With luck they'd deliver it to him at work. The thought of his reactionwhen he opened the box stayed with her as she finished her lunch and got back to work.

*~*~*

Though she'd been expecting it, the abrupt rapping on her front door still startled Brienne.

"I'll be right out," Brienne called. She trotted into her kitchen to pour the remainder of her coffee into the sink and rinse her cup before grabbing her suitcase, a sturdy orange affair she'd gotten on sale at Flea Bottom Franny's, a discount mart in the seedier part of King's Landing. 

"You be good for Margaery, alright?" She told Grumkin, "I don't want to see any barfy hairballs on the bed when I get home, understood?" Grumkin looked up at her, considering the pros and cons of such an action, and Brienne opened the door. Standing before her was a distinguished-looking older man dressed in a dark grey business suit. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said, lifting her backpack from the hook by the door and slinging it over one shoulder. The man retreated a step for her to come onto the porch, and Brienne closed and double-checked the lock on the front door. "Shall we?"

The man reached for her suitcase "I'll put this in the boot." Brienne let him take it, any protests at being capable of carrying it herself swallowed by the insecurity his posh accent and cold arrogance woke in her. The silver-haired man stepped off of the step and she followed.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you in person at last, Mr. Lannister –" she began, faltering when he turned cool, silent green eyes on her. "Uh…what a nice car," she tried, "A Castamere, isn't it? I've think I've read about them. Quite rare, aren't they?"

Mr. Lannister slammed the boot and walked over to Brienne where she stood with her hand on the front passenger-door latch. The man opened the door to the back seat and stood back, clearly waiting for Brienne to take her hand off of the other door and get in. 

It was apparent to Brienne that the great man would not abide his lessers riding up front with him. Brienne swung her backpack in ahead of her and followed as gracefully as she could, the door clunking solidly shut behind her. Becoming increasingly annoyed, she watched as Lannister went round to the driver's side and got in. 

"Ah, Dr. Tarth, a pleasure to meet you at last," said an equally posh but good deal friendlier voice beside her.

Brienne jerked back in surprise, barely suppressing a startled shriek. She found herself staring at a grinning gargoyle of a man wearing a garish floral-patterned Summer Isles shirt and jeans. He was holding out his hand and she reflexively shook it.

"So sorry to startle you," he said, chuckling. "I'm Tyrion. Tyrion Lannister."

Of course! She had thought it likely that Tyrion Lannister might well be a dwarf, given all of the resources he'd been willing to devote to the study of achondroplasia, but she'd never thought to research him. 

"Brienne Tarth," she offered coolly, glancing at the man in the driver's seat as he adjusted a black chauffeur's cap and started the car. "I've been assuming that that gentleman was you. Why the ruse, Mr. Lannister?"

"Tyrion, please, Dr. Tarth. No ruse, I assure you. I merely found it more efficient to send Damon to carry your bags."

"But…I called him Mr. Lannister and he didn't correct me at any point. If it was his purpose to put me on the defensive then it has worked brilliantly."

"Ah, but he _is_ Mr. Lannister. A second cousin, I believe."

"Your driver is your cousin?"

"After a fashion, yes. From a lesser branch of the house it's said. I took him on after my dear father fired him for embezzling. Seems Damon has a bit of a gambling habit," Tyrion smirked, "Haven't you, Damon?"

"Aye, Ser," answered Damon, who started the car and worked his way out of Brienne's quiet residential neighborhood. 

Brienne lowered her voice, "It strikes me as odd, Mr. Lannister, that you would generously take him into your employ while mentioning his addiction to all and sundry while he's clearly trying to better himself."

Tyrion stared at her a moment with his odd-colored eyes, seeming to consider what she'd said, "I would be inclined to agree, Dr. Tarth, if Damon had any wish to improve his ways, but I pay him exceedingly well for part-time work, and he's happy that the Dornish mafia aren't breaking his kneecaps trying to collect on his gambling debts. What say you, Damon, have you given up on gambling?" Tyrion called.

"No Ser. Nothing I love better than a day at the races," he took the motorway on-ramp that would take them to the airport. "Shall I park in the lot, ser, or hand you over to the skycaps curbside?"

"See?" Tyrion nodded. "Curbside, good man. If that's alright with you, Dr. Tarth?" 

 "It doesn't matter to me." Normally Brienne would have insisted he call her by her first name, but she was finding that Tyrion Lannister's condescending attitude irked her. Perhaps he'd been over-indulged as a child to compensate for his condition, but Brienne had met with scores of adults and children with achondroplasia; none of them were able to use their disability to better their lives, though the opposite was often true.

As she busied herself with looking through her backpack, Brienne watched him from the corner of her eye, noting his thick, floppy blond hair with black streaks running through it, the somewhat flat bridge of his nose and his unusual eyes, one green, the other dark and inscrutable as a crow's. 

"Almost there," Tyrion said cheerfully, looking out the tinted windows, "I do hope you've got something inspirational planned to convince the committee to continue funding the study, Doctor. I've heard that this Maester Pycelle is a doddering, contrary old fool."  
  
"I've written a speech," Brienne told him, laying hands on a manila folder in her backpack, "Would you like to see it?"

"Uh, no thanks, Doc. I doubt I'd understand it, and I'm fairly certain Pycelle won't either."

Brienne closed the backpack with a forceful _zip_. "Why, then, am I coming along?"

"To talk to them, of course! Give 'em the whole spiel." Tyrion snapped his fingers rapidly three times, "It's all in the delivery, sweetling."

Brienne bristled. From Dr. Tarth to _sweetling_? "I believe I told you over the phone that I am no orator, Mr. Lannister –"

"Tyrion. Do call me Tyrion."

"Mr. Lannister," she said in measured tones, "I want to help keep the study going, but it seems you've picked the wrong –"

"Oh, not to worry. I'm certain you'll do fine, and I did tell you that I'd coach you. I don't want to _read_ your speech, but I do want to hear it," he assured her.

Mollified, Brienne nodded. "Fair enough. I've tried to tone down some of the jargon, but there are certain terms with no adequate substitute in layman's language, such as fibroblast growth fact –"

"Blah, blah, blah," said Tyrion with what he apparently thought of as a winning smile, "I've heard from those who would know that this Maester Pycelle fancies himself quite the ladies' man…" He pointedly looked Brienne up and down, his gaze lingering on her scar. _Along with my broad jaw and crooked nose_ , Brienne thought sourly. "I had rather hoped that you, er… Well, it doesn't really matter. Unless…" he raised one brow suggestively, "You didn't happen to bring any short skirts? Or am I only imagining how long your legs are?"

Brienne was done questioning whether Tyrion Lannister deserved her growing dislike or not; he was an obnoxious turd of a man. " _Mister_ Lannister, I have a _doctorate_ in –"

"Blah, blah, blah, _Doctor_ Tarth. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm objectifying you – which I certainly am – but outside of the hallowed halls of academia things work a bit differently. Perhaps you've had more luck in navigating the real world than I have, but I've found a little sleight of hand, a bit of misdirection, if you will, keeps people's minds on what you want them to think or see." He looked at her face again, "Can you tell me you've never played up your eyes or legs to draw attention away from your, pardon me, other features?"

Brienne blinked at him, her mouth snapping shut on the retort she wanted to make. "I may not be the most attractive woman, ser, but I do not attempt to hide my looks." 

"Don't you?" he asked.

"No." An image of her cat mask flashed through her mind and she dismissed it. Or tried to.

"So you've never shown off your legs or eyes to better someone's opinion of you?" He prodded.

"I suppose I have," she admitted grudgingly, "But I'm not alone in that. Lots of women do up their eyes. I _accept_ my looks, Mr. Lannister."

"Then why are you on the defensive because I've mentioned them?" 

"I'm not!" Brienne insisted, mentally moving Tyrion Lannister up to the top of her most-hated people list. 

"Almost there," Damon said from the front seat, and Brienne looked up to see they'd entered the Departures zone and their driver was looking for a place to park by the curb. 

An economy car resembling a partially squished bug disgorged a red-haired teenager with a backpack and a guitar case before merging back into the stream of slow-moving cars, and Damon nudged the Castamere into the small space, the entire tail-finned rear of the car still protruding into traffic. He hopped out to get their bags from the boot. 

Brienne opened her door and stepped up onto the walkway. Tyrion scrambled out after her. The two of them stood side by side waiting for Damon. The unexpected sound of Tyrion's laughter made Brienne look down. 

"Just look at us!" he hooted. "What are you, seven feet tall? Gods, folks'll think we're a circus act or something."

To her horror, Brienne saw that several people in the slow parade of cars moving around the Castamere's rear end had their camera phones trained on the pair of them. Even little children had their noses pressed against car windows in amazement.

Damon strode past them carrying Brienne's bargain-basement luggage, the synthetic orange material nearly aglow beside Tyrion's fine-grain leather suitcase. Depositing them at the skycap counter, the chauffeur handed the uniformed attendant an envelope and spoke earnestly to him for a moment before coming back to stand before them. "All set, ser. You and the lady will be well taken care of."

"Thank you, Damon. We'll see you in a few days," Tyrion said, "Enjoy your time off."

"Thank you, ser," Damon tipped his cap, "There's a race at three over at Dargood Downs I've been keen to see."

Tyrion reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins and gave him a few Silvers, "Put this down for me. If the horse wins I'll split the purse with you."

"Yes, ser!" Damon tipped his hat and practically skipped back to the car, the dignified bearing that had intimidated Brienne abandoned.

"Let's get checked in, shall we?" Tyrion ambled over to the skycap. Brienne gritted her teeth and followed. She hoped they weren't sitting together. He'd likely fly first class and she'd be in economy, which suited her fine.

"Tyrion Lannister and _Doctor_ Brienne Tarth," Tyrion announced cheerfully, fishing out his identification and handing it to the skycap. Brienne took her wallet from a side pocket on her pack and handed over her card. 

The uniformed man greeted them and ran both idents through a scanner.  He pressed several keys on his board and then a printer near his knees whirred and pushed out several thick rectangles of paper. He bundled them into two separate gold envelopes. 

"Mr. Tyrion Lannister, flying first class on Braavos Airlines to Titan Field, seat 2A." He handed the first envelope to Tyrion. "Dr. Brienne Tarth," he handed her the other envelope, "Seat 2B, Doctor Tarth. Your bags are already on their way to the plane. Boarding begins in forty-five minutes, flight time three hours and sixteen minutes." He looked up from his screen and smiled, "Transportation from Titan Field to your hotel is arranged. A driver will meet you as you disembark. Have a good trip."

Tyrion took his envelope and walked through the automated doors into the airport. Brienne thanked the skycap and hurried after. They'd be seated next to each other, and she was certain even first class couldn't render him tolerable for over three hours. Maybe she could get lost in one of the novels on her tablet to pass the time she'd be stuck next to Mr. Obnoxious. 

They drew more looks from the other travelers flowing around them, pulling their wheeled walk-on luggage or pushing prams with over-tired children whining for whatever movie tie-in toy Burger Khaleesi® was including with their Harpy Meal. 

Tyrion accepted the attention with better grace than Brienne, possibly enjoying having someone else to share in his traveling circus act. "How tall are you, anyway?" He asked.

"Six foot three, give or take," it was a question Brienne had known was coming, "How tall are you?"

"Four foot five, give but _don't_ take. Let's go to the VIP lounge; I could use a drink." He led them to a red door set between a Dothraki Fried Chieftain's and a Thenn's Barbarian Grill, where Brienne eyed the glossy signage for their special Night's Watch Thigh Meal™ wistfully. Her stomach growled, early morning coffee and muffin long gone.

"So, six-three. How much of that is leg?" Tyrion inserted his gold-plated membership card in a reader beside the door and was rewarded with a small green light and a click.

"Most of it," Brienne said, following him through the door into a dimly lit lounge. 

"Good for you!" Tyrion chortled, "Own it, girl. Bar are booth?"

Brienne looked around the gloomy room, noting the mostly empty tables and the bartender flirting with a waitress, "Booth."

"Booth it is." They were soon seated on plush velvet, the seat back forming a private space around them. "When I say 'own it,'" Tyrion continued, spreading his hands on the tabletop, "I mean that you should celebrate your unique qualities. Know who and what you are, and accept it."

"I know who I am, Mr. Lannister," Brienne said in an icy tone.

" _Tyrion,"_ He waved at the waitress, "Then you need to make _them_ accept it as well." 

"Them, who?" Brienne said, looking around for some sign of the ladies' loo. Perhaps she could dawdle there a while.

"Everyone else. The normal people. Normal height, normal features, normal intelligence. You're _different_. Accept it _. Own it_. And then they can't hurt you."

"You seem to be implying that I am unaware of my differences or how others see me," Brienne said, "Aside from it being none of your damn business, what gives you the right to judge how I've lived my life?"

"I feel a certain kinship with you, Legs. We're both freaks of nature –"

"You're calling me a freak now?" Brienne didn't raise her voice, even angry as she was, "Mr. Lannister, I would thoroughly dislike anyone who characterized _you_ as a freak because of your appearance. That you should come along and not only do that to yourself, but to me, presumably because I am unusually tall and not fair to look upon, beggars belief." Brienne glared at him, on the verge of walking out and hailing a cab home.

Tyrion pulled the tall plastic menu from its place between a sugar dispenser and a Plexiglas container of brochures touting the benefits of the Fyne Flyers Club. "Perhaps it's not my place to judge you. Or anyone's place, for that matter. But judge you they will. I'm only trying to make a point." He opened the menu, "I do hope you drink, or this is going to be a very dull trip."

"It's about to be a very _short_ trip," Brienne said, looping the strap of her pack over one shoulder.

"Don't be like that," Tyrion didn't even look up, tracing down the menu with one stubby finger. "My point, if you'll stop reacting long enough to listen, is that once you accept your difference, and learn to live with it, you stop giving people the power to hurt you." 

Brienne stood up, "I'll be going now, Mr. Lannister."

"Do sit down, Legs," Tyrion sighed, putting the menu back. "I apologize for my comments and will attempt to rein in my deplorable personality for the remainder of the trip. Will that serve?"

"Don't call me 'Legs.'" Brienne said.

"Am I to have no fun at all then?" Tyrion looked up at her scowling, reddened face. "I apologize. We're probably both stressed about this meeting, but we need each other if we're to save the study. Please sit down and forgive me, Dr. Tarth."

Brienne lowered herself to the bench but didn’t set down her backpack. She pulled out the menu and opened it, but found she was too upset to focus on it.

"They have an excellent wine list here," Tyrion said, "but beware the sommelier. If you pull his string about varietals he'll never shut up. Also, he mispronounces terroir, which drives me _nuts_."

As though summoned, a man wearing a black coat with tails and a waxed mustache arrived at their booth and made a shallow bow to them. He looked to Brienne like an old-fashioned cartoon villain.

"Mr. Lannister! What a pleasure to have you back with us at Fyne Flyers. Have you had an opportunity to peruse our list?"

"I have. The lady and I will have a bottle of Bone Mountain Blanc." Tyrion looked questioningly at Brienne, but she only shrugged and put the menu back.

"Certainly ser." Another bow and the wine steward turned to leave.

"Pardon me, good man" Brienne said sweetly, "But would you be able to tell me anything about the terroir of Bone Mountain?"

Tyrion's mouth dropped open. Brienne gave him a placid smile and the wine expert cleared his throat, preparing to embark on a great speech. "The tyrwah of Bone Mountain, which is warm and arid but more hill than mountain, lays claim to some of the most fertile wine-growing soil in Essos and is celebrated among those who truly know wine. The soil, the microclimate, the superior tyrwah of that ancient vineyard, has been described by the greatest maester vintners of that continent in glowing terms for many generations. The exquisite artisan hydrosols and essence of that bioregion have inspired such superlatives as _'a magnificence of_ –'" 

"Good ser," Tyrion interrupted, "While my esteemed companion no doubt appreciates your superior knowledge of wine-making, she has not taken into account how soon our flight departs. I do so hate to rush you, but if we're to board on time we'll need to make haste."

The wine steward bowed, "Of course, ser. If the lady would like, I can continue with her education whilst you enjoy your wine?"

"That's very good of you," Tyrion gave Brienne a baleful look, "But we have business to discuss."

"As you wish, ser." The man's curled mustaches twitched with disappointment. "I shall return with your selection promptly." 

"Terroir!" Tyrion hissed at Brienne, "It's pronounced tehr-wahr, for gods sakes."

"Tyrwah, tehr-wahl, whatever." Brienne drawled, enjoying Tyrion's outrage. She didn't know wine as well as she did whisky, but wine snobs could be just as persnickety as anyone she'd met on Whisky Lovers. 

"No, no – tehr wahr! Even if you can't duplicate the accent you can at least approximate it. Why on earth would you ask after I told you what he'd do?"

"I wanted to see how he pronounced it." Brienne unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap, "Tarwear is good, too. I like it. Sounds like a clothing line. Tarrrr wearrr," she said, savoring the drawn out R. 

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at her, "You're doing that _on_ _purpose_!" He accused.

"Me? Nevah. I just have an abiding interest in all things soil. Little early in the day for wine, isn't it?"

"It's at least noon somewhere in the world," Tyrion waved away her objection, "And wherever that is, they damn well know how to pronounce terroir." He wasn't wrong, she'd give him that much. "Gods! I'm going to get that fucking stupid pronunciation in my head now."

"Which, tyrwah or tarwear?"

"Tyrwah," said a voice above them. They looked up at the sommelier, wine glasses in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. "Did you know, Miss, that the specific appellation of Bone Mountains gives the tyrwah its distinctive –"

"The clock is ticking," Tyrion reminded him, gesturing to his wrist, where there was no evidence of a watch.

"Of course, Ser. Shall I decant the wine for you?"

"Just leave the bottle and the corkscrew." Tyrion bared his teeth in a strained smile.

"Are you quite certain? Would you not like to have the first sip to be sure the wine is to your satisfaction?"

"Quite. Certain."

"As you wish, Ser." The wine was placed with reverence before Tyrion, the corkscrew with somewhat less ceremony. The steward bowed again and departed.

With a faint pop Tyrion pulled the cork and set it aside. He poured them each a glass, pausing before drinking his to swirl the wine and hold it up to examine in the light, tilting it slightly. "Mm, nice legs," he remarked with a grin, "and I'm speaking of the wine this time. Would you care to see what I'm talking about?"

Brienne rolled her eyes, and took a sip. "No, not really." 

"See, when you're tasting wine, if you swirl the wine around in the glass, you coat the sides and judge how the droplets or legs flow down; the longer the legs, generally, the higher the alcohol content.  Tyrion sipped his wine, "See, viscosity is the key to the wine adhering to the sides of the glass, and evaporation –"

"Blah, blah, blah." Brienne muttered.

Tyrion smiled at her, drained his glass and topped them both up, "Drink up then Dr. Tarth; we have a plane to catch."

"I'm not sure I can finish the wine in my glass," Brienne said. "I'd hate to be one of those obnoxious drunk passengers." 

"Come now, Dr. Tarth, we've both had about half the bottle. If I can handle it at my size, surely you can. Besides, we're flying First Class; arriving in Braavos sober after three hours of complimentary booze is against the local laws there." Tyrion gestured at her glass, "You ever been to Braavos before? You _really_ don't want to break any rules there."

"I confess, I've never been there. What is the penalty for arriving sober?"

"I wouldn't know," Tyrion admitted, setting a gold-toned credit card from Casterly Bank on the table. Brienne noticed the holographic sticker was a stylized lion on red. She had a similar card but the background was silver. A server appeared and swept up the card and returned quickly with a receipt. Tyrion wrote in the tip and signed his name with a flourish.

They both stood up, though Tyrion didn't move toward the exit, his disconcerting eyes trained on Brienne instead. He shook his head, bemused, and Brienne contemplated the penalties for punching the man who provided the majority of her paycheck. "What?" she demanded.

"You sure I can't call you 'Legs'?" Tyrion gave a low whistle, "They honestly go on forever."

"No, you may _not_."

"Well, can I at least call you 'Brienne'? Dr. Tarth is such a mouthful." He reached for her abandoned wineglass. 

Brienne intercepted it before he could wrap his fingers around the stem and drained it. "No 'Legs,' and no 'Brienne,' until you demonstrate a modicum of propriety when addressing me."

"You'll force me to become inventive, Doctor."

"Behaving like a spoiled bully is not inventive, Mr. Lannister, it is merely annoying." She started toward the door and he followed.

"How about Brie, like the cheese?"

"Only my friends call me 'Brie,' and you are not my friend, ser."

"Yet." Tyrion gave her an impish smile, "You'll soon find that I'm irresistible, everybody does."

"Prepare for disappointment," Brienne said coolly. "We'd better get to boarding before they leave without us. Think you can keep up with me?" 

Tyrion assured her that he could, and once they were past the restaurants and shops Brienne set a fast pace through the terminal, weaving through slower-moving travelers as Tyrion trotted to keep up. She was making good time until they were forced to stop behind a large family group complete with walker-wielding grandparents, a double stroller and a passel of joyfully shrieking preschoolers. 

Tyrion caught up, panting, "You know, it might be easier if you just carried me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Brienne said, watching for a path through the family amoeba.

Tyrion pointed to a young boy, thumb in mouth, clinging to his harried-looking mother, " _He's_ getting carried. Evolution gave you the hips for carrying the small, you know. I'm only a little taller than he is."

Just then one of the many children tripped over her shoelaces and fell hard, the resulting ear-splitting wails attracting several cooing adults. Brienne seized the opportunity to escape and maneuvered through the break in their ranks, putting the high-pitched shrieks behind her.  

Tyrion was right at her heels, pleading breathlessly with her to slow down, but she was determined to get to their gate without further delay. It was only when she spotted the boarding area just ahead that the absence of his whining registered. 

With a huff of annoyance, Brienne turned to look for him. He wasn't anywhere in the wave of walkers coming toward her. She started heading back and had just begun to worry when she finally spotted him. Tyrion Lannister was lying face up on the white and grey tile floor, impatient travelers flowing around him like a boulder in a stream. 

Brienne stopped at his feet, hands on hips, Tyrion put the back of his hand to his forehead, closed his eyes and whimpered "So exhausted…can't make it," he gestured weakly with his other hand, "Go – go on without me."

Brienne nearly laughed. Tyrion cracked open one eyelid, then shut it tightly and sighed mournfully, "Tell my family that I love them. _Not_ father, though…"

"Get up before someone calls the medics." Brienne snapped, "Or I _will_ carry you to the boarding area."

Tyrion immediately popped up like a prairie dog and raised his arms. In a single motion, Brienne wrapped an arm around his waist and hoisted him like a sack of grain, bracing him against her hip, his arms and legs dangling. 

"I was kidding!" he squawked. 

But she was off, striding through the airport at speed, Tyrion firmly trapped and beginning to shake with laughter.

By the time Brienne reached the boarding area she was laughing as well. She let Tyrion slide out of her grip onto the floor next to a row of molded plastic chairs. She collapsed into one of the seats, trying not to smile in triumph. 

Still chuckling, Tyrion took the chair beside her. "That was not quite what I had in mind," he admitted.

"Good." Brienne grinned. 

"I don't think I've been carried like that since I put fish paste in my father's toupee when I was seven." He looked up at her seriously, "I don't suppose you're planning to paddle my behind too?"

"I am not." Brienne confirmed.

"Shame," he said, giving her a flirtatious look.

Brienne looked at him incredulously. "You're insane."

"Not your sort of thing, huh? Not that you seem the type." 

"What 'type' would that be, Mr. Lannister?"

"You know…free-spirited. Kinky. A scientist in the streets, a freak in the sheets." He was grinning at her, waiting for a reaction. Brienne kept her expression blank, though a sudden mental image of Leo tied naked to a St. Baelor's cross took root and was difficult to banish. Tyrion raised his eyebrows at her, "I've made you blush, Dr. Tarth. You're quite the innocent aren't you?"

Brienne nodded. "I'm afraid so," she said, "We academics are pretty straight-laced." Her blush got deeper as the memory of Leo stroking his cock with one hand while still tightly bound by his legs and left arm to the wooden X got even more vivid. 

"I apologize if I've offended you," Tyrion offered, mistaking her distraction for distress. "My brother is always telling me I cross the line too often. No sense of propriety, he says."

"Perhaps you ought to listen to your brother then," Brienne said primly. "Is he older or younger than you?"

"Older by several years. Typical big brother type, I guess." Tyrion told her. A garbled voice came over the intercom and both paused to listen; it was a boarding announcement. "That's our ride," Tyrion slid off the chair. "Let's go get settled in our oh-so-cushy seats so the steerage passengers can shuffle past and wish they were us."

"Yes, I'm sure the prospect of a little free wine and a pre-cooked meal of fish curry will make all of them wish to be homely and awkward," Brienne said.

" _I'm_ not awkward!" Tyrion protested.

Brienne looked down at him in his well-fitted clothes and then patted his head. "No, you're not _totally_ awkward," she said, "Except when you're lying in the middle of a crowd of people acting like a five year-old."

Tyrion led the way to the gate attendant. "That was _theatrical_ , not awkward," he said, handing his ticket up to the dark-haired woman in a Braavos Airline's dark purple uniform. She scanned the bar code, handed it back, and held out her hand for Brienne's ticket. "Anyway, they stopped serving the fish curry after that unfortunate incident with the Ambassador of the Andals." Tyrion said, stepping into the corridor.

Brienne followed him through the free-standing tunnel and past the attendants flanking the cockpit doors to the second row of seats, "What happened with the Ambassador of the Andals? Fish allergy?"

"If only it had been that simple," Tyrion got into his seat and opened the window shade, peering out at the tarmac and baggage carts. "Ah, and there's our luggage…yours at least. I'll say one thing for it; Day-Glo orange probably makes it easier to spot on the baggage carousel."

Ignoring his comment, Brienne sat down with her backpack, grateful for the aisle seat and its more abundant leg-room. She opened the pack and took out a magazine, a set of wireless headphones, and her tablet, putting them in the seat pocket in front of her. She stowed her bag beneath the seat in front of Tyrion.

"Excuse me, but that's _my_ storage area," he said, not turning from the window.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brienne murmured, "were you hoping to take a nap down there later?"

"Ouch," He said, "You wound me, m'lady, picking on my under-tallness. And after that fine lecture about not being judgmental and all."

"If the dwarf fits," she said on a yawn, "That reminds me, I forgot to bring a sleeping mask. Long flights are so dull."

"You're flying with Tyrion Lannister, baby," he said, "The fun is only just begun. Shall we look at the in-flight menu?" He pulled the glossy folder from the seat pocket and leaned toward Brienne, opening the tri-fold brochure. "Let's see…libations…wine from seven different regions…oh, look – they even have a selection from my family's winery."

"Your family has a winery?" Brienne asked. Tyrion pointed to the words _Casterly Vineyards Lion's Reserve Red_. "I had a chardonnay from that label a couple weeks ago," she mused, recalling the wine she'd shared with Leo after the first time they'd made love.

"And did you enjoy it?" Tyrion asked. "From your expression I'd say 'yes'."

She smiled, "Very much."

"You're blushing again, Legs."

"Am I? Huh." 

"You're not thinking about wine, are you?" Tyrion accused.

"What makes you say that?" 

"Well, for one thing I called you 'Legs' and you didn't clobber me."

"Oh," she said absently, "Don't call me 'Legs.'"  

What was Leo doing right now? Was he thinking about her, too? It was still fairly early in the morning; was he lying in his bed, perhaps stroking his cock and imagining it was her hand or mouth on him? What if she could walk in on him like that, surprise him in his bedroom…he'd look up in shock as she took off her clothes and walked over, straddling him, guiding him inside…

"Legs…?" 

Reluctantly, she pulled her attention back to her traveling companion. "Brienne," she said absently.

"Brienne. Are you okay, Brienne? You're not afraid of flying are you?"

"No. Why do you ask?" She shifted in her seat, fastening her seat belt. And then unbuckling it as she realized she'd had a half bottle of wine on top of her pre-dawn coffee and never did find the lady's lounge at Fyne Flyers. "I should visit the loo before we take off."

"Good idea, if you want to fight your way through the general boarding." Tyrion waved at the solid line of people standing in the aisles with their carry-on luggage, no doubt waiting for that one traveler who always insisted on re-arranging the overhead bin to accommodate the oversized parcel they'd refused to check.

"Oh," Brienne said, "I guess I can wait another few minutes."

Tyrion presented the brochure again. "As I was saying, the wine list is quite extensive. They also have cocktails, if that's more to your taste. Gin, rum, tequila, 99 Bananas –"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a liqueur; banana flavored," Tyrion explained, "along with 99 Peaches, 99 Raspberries, et cetera."

"How do they manage to extract the juice from a banana?"

"By sucking on it?" he said with a smirk.  "In any case, it's banana- _flavored_ , so apparently no bananas actually climaxed in the making of it." 

_Has he read the same articles in Westerosi Woman that Marge and I have_? "And people drink it?  Sounds perfectly awful."

"It's not bad, really, especially the Chocolate Banana martini. One does have to watch out for the sugar in some of these novelty drinks."

"Watching your weight, Mr. Lannister?"

"Watching my hangovers. Sweet drinks will get you every time." He continued down the list, "Aside from all of those they have beer, Akvavit, vodka, whisky, Dothraki Cream…you don't want that, it's just a rebranding of their horrid Lamekh, or fermented mare's milk."

Brienne didn't want Akvavit either, with its unpleasant memories of Hyle. She briefly considered asking for a glass of whisky, neat, but decided that might make her look like a hard-drinking lush. Besides, it was too early in the day even for a true whisky lover, no matter how she justified it.

Tyrion moved on to the entrée and snacks list, and she tried to pay attention as he remarked on one selection and another. It passed the time as the passengers settled into their seats. He turned to the final panel, labeled "Entertainment."

"No dancing girls, alas," Tyrion sighed, "just movies, music, games, TV shows from last season…'The Wight-Walking Dead,' 'Seven Universe,' that show about the weird cat whisperer guy, 'Claw & Odor.' Gods, they've even got 'Ice and Fire,' that nerdy dragon show."

"Only episode 7 though," Brienne pointed out. "Why have a single episode from the middle of the season? Not a particularly _good_ episode either."

"Hah! You're a nerd!" Tyrion crowed.

"And proud of it," she said, "Aren’t you?"

"Nah. I have people to do all that nerd stuff for me. You won't catch me shopping on the internet or watching a show with dragons."

"Have you ever tried watching the show? The first few seasons are especially good," Brienne said, "See, they're based on this series of books, and –"

"I don't wanna know," Tyrion stopped her. "My brother Jaime tried to get me to watch it, tried luring me in with the promise of plentiful boobs, but old bearded guys outnumbered tits, like, five to two or something." 

"Some of us would rather look at old bearded guys." Brienne said, leaning forward to take her tablet out of the seat pocket, "You probably couldn't follow the plot anyway. Do they have Wi-Fi on this flight?" She hadn't checked Whisky Lovers in hours.

"They should," Tyrion said, "You're not going bury your nose in that thing for the whole flight are you?"

Brienne frowned. "I might need to check my email from the lab."

"Uh huh, and your MyFace page." Tyrion took out his phone and held it out in front of him, making a duckface before snapping off a shot. "Gonna post selfies and pictures of your meals to bore all your friends with?"

"I don't usually take selfies. It probably won't surprise you that I'm not very photogenic." Brienne tucked the tablet away again, hoping to sneak it out later. "Let me see the picture you took."

Tyrion handed her the phone. A flesh colored blob with a spot of green filled the screen. "My arms are too short," he explained grumpily.

"You didn't even get your arms in the pic – oh, you mean too short to take selfies?" Brienne chuckled, "I've got you beat there. Shall I try for you?"

"Only if you're in the picture as well, otherwise don't bother. I don't need another picture of me, what with my famous family and all."

"The Lannisters are famous? I guess I hadn't really thought about it." 

"You are familiar with Casterly Winery, and you must have heard of Casterly Bank."

"I have an account at one of the Casterly branches," she admitted, "That's you, huh?"

"Well, not _only_ me." Tyrion said.

"But you obviously come from money," Brienne said, "Still, wealth alone doesn't make one famous, does it?"

"Not necessarily, but there are members of my family that occasion a bit of press. My father, a cousin who's married to a politician, even my brother Jaime."

"Huh. I'll be sure to look 'Lannister' up later."

"I wouldn't bother. It's not very interesting." Tyrion looked at his phone, still in Brienne's hand, "So, are you going to take a picture of us or not?"

"I don't –"

"C'mon, it'll pass the time," Tyrion batted his eyelashes, "You can make rabbit ears behind my head if you like."

"Oh, alright." Brienne leaned over until her head was on a level with Tyrion's, her right arm extended with the phone. "Duck face?"

"Duck face." He said, and they both pursed their lips. The phone made a mechanical _whirr-click_ and Brienne sat back in her seat, thumbing the album open to show Tyrion, who chuckled. 

"It's better than I expected, to be honest," Brienne smiled, handing the phone back.

"The first of many, I hope," he tucked it back in his pocket. 

"Maybe. If you behave." Brienne turned in her seat to look up the aisle. Everyone seemed to be settled in. "I'm going to use the –"

She was interrupted by the intercom warning that all passengers must be seated with their trays up, electronics off, and seatbelts fastened. With a groan Brienne buckled in again. Next to her, Tyrion powered off his phone and pulled his belt tight. 

A flight attendant went past with her crash apparatus to tutor those in coach. Another took her place between the cockpit and First Class. The intercom crackled to life again with a pre-recorded spiel about what to do in case of an emergency and the attendant, smile fixed, mimed how to use the oxygen mask, pointed out the Exit doors, and, finally, shook her finger at the overhead icons, reminding everyone that the "Stay Seated" lights meant just that. 

Soon the plane was backing away from the gate, turning, and taking up a position for take-off l. The engines revved like a race car's, the huge machine poised to speed across the tarmac and leap into the air.

Tyrion bounced in his seat like an excited child. "I love take-off, don't you?"

Brienne took a deep breath and gripped the arm rests tightly. "Absolutely," she said, closing her eyes and trying out a biofeedback technique she'd read about. With a gentle roar the plane accelerated, going faster and faster -

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of flying?" She heard Tyrion say.

"I'm not. It's only taking off and landing that scares me." Brienne tried to picture a forest, a coastline, a sky full of fluffy clouds – _no, not the sky_ – fluffy _sheep_ grazing, cats purring, Leo sleeping mmm…

The metal beast rose into the air like a rocket before leveling out.

"Relax. You survived," Tyrion said, "And you're smiling, so it must not have been that bad."

Brienne nodded and opened her eyes, relieved. Tyrion was looking at her, concerned. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all. His odd-colored eyes were even kind of appealing, the black one she'd earlier likened to a crow's looking more like that of a kindly stuffed bear, while the iris of the other had flecks of amber woven into the pretty green, not unlike Leo's. 

A ding called her attention to the seatbelt icon above; it was dimmed. "Excuse me, Mr. Lannister, but I really must go." Her belt was off with a flick of the wrist and she edged past the other passengers, trying to hurry without trodding on any toes. _Why can't people keep their feet out of the aisle_? 

The bathroom was, thank the Gods, vacant, and she gratefully folded herself into the tiny space. Though she wasn't inside long, there was a queue outside when she came out, and she was obliged to squeeze past them to get back to her seat. 

"I took the liberty of ordering a drink for you," Tyrion told her. "I hope you don't mind."

"As long as it's not Akvavit," Brienne said under her breath.

Tyrion heard her anyway and made an unpleasant noise in the back of his throat. "Would I do that to you, Brienne? That's some nasty shit, suitable only for sterilizing the wounds of Ironborn scum."

"Ah, you've had it then?" Brienne couldn't help but grin at the look on his face. 

"When I was a lad my father would make me drink a half teaspoon of it whenever I said 'fuck.' I said 'fuck' a _lot_."

"That's child abuse! You could have been taken away. He could have faced charges.

"Unlikely. The great and lordly Tywin Lannister and his evil hoard of lawyers had nothing to fear," Tyrion said, not quite hiding the bitterness in his tone. "And if his ugly dwarf son staggered around like a tiny drunk it only added a little comic relief to the tragedy of my existence after all." 

"I don't believe I like your father." Brienne said, seething. She wanted to find this elder Lannister and knock his teeth out. She could just imagine Tyrion and his brother; two little boys with dwarfism would face enough challenges without an abusive parent to making it worse. "Was he mean to your older brother as well?" 

"Jaime? He could find just as much trouble as I did, but he knew how to charm his way out of it. Father always had high expectations of him as the first-born, but I don't think he ever actually gave a damn about him." Tyrion thought a moment, "Jaime's damaged all the same though, never really trusting someone to love him as he is. I think I'm the only one who knows that about him."

"So sad." Brienne's fists were clenched and she relaxed them with an effort. "No wonder you go on so much about self-acceptance." 

Tyrion nodded. "True. I apologize for that, Brienne. I can come on a bit strong." 

She smiled down at him. He'd roused her protective instincts, and Brienne found herself liking him better, "You are undeniably obnoxious, Tyrion, but I forgive you. For now."

 "Thank you for that," he said solemnly, but then brightened. "But enough sad stories for now – here come our drinks!"

 The flight attendant had two cocktail glasses glimmering with frosty condensation, a thick banana slice jauntily garnishing each rim and the drink itself topped with whipped cream. She placed each drink down on a small square of linen along with a saucer bearing chocolate biscuits with an embossed Braavosi Airlines logo.

Brienne picked up her glass and inhaled appreciatively, "Chocolate-Banana martinis?"

"Indeed. I think we need a picture with these, don't you?" Tyrion fished out his phone, set it on Brienne's table, and then picked up his glass, "Ready when you are."

Brienne leaned in close to him with her drink in one hand and the phone in the other. "Say chocolate!"

" _Chocolate_ ," they said in unison made silly grins for the camera.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their drinks and munching biscuits. Tyrion took the AirMall catalog from the seat pocket and they leafed through it, both laughing over the things people with too much money could buy. They moved on to the in-flight magazine and more Chocolate Banana Martinis. Giggling, they took turns using a pen to alter the magazine models, blacking out teeth, drawing scales, and adding funny captions. 

About an hour into the flight Brienne leaned back in her seat, examining her martini, "Does it really take 99 bananas to make thish?" 

"Huh?" Tyrion let his head flop back to look up at her, "You're shlurring a little," he pointed out.

"Am not. Ansher the question." Brienne set her glass down and looked at it reproachfully, "I _can't_ be. Thish is only my third, and they're so _little_."

" _Fourth._ And what does _little_ have to do with it? Great things come in shmall packages." He held up his own glass, "See, this contains Crème de Cacao, which is about forty proof –"

"Twenty percent alcohol ishn't all that strong," Brienne interrupted, "and anyway, what's the banana flavoring, like fifteen percent?"

"It's called 99 Bananas because it's ninety-nine _proof_ , Legs. Not because they _used_ 99 bananas." Tyrion took a sip and smacked his lips, "And then there's the vodka too, you know."

Brienne put her head back and closed her eyes. She did feel pleasantly buzzed, and with over half the flight left, the cushy First Class seat it seemed like no bad thing. Unless she needed to visit the lavatory, which would necessitate her walking through the aisle without tripping on anyone's feet and turning into a contortionist again to sit in the claustrophobic booth... 

She turned to look at Tyrion. "Didn't I ashk you not to call me 'Legs?'"

"I suppose you did," Tyrion admitted. "I only wish someone would call _me_ 'Legs.' Do you want to call me 'Legs?'?"

"I think not…but, I think I ought to call you 'Tyrwah.'" Brienne chuckled at her own cleverness, sounding it out again for his benefit, "Tyrrr waah. Tyrwah Lannister."

"You're much more evil than you look, Dr. Tarth," Tyrion said.

"And you're shlightly lesh evil than you look," Brienne smiled and tousled his hair fondly, then drew her hand back in alarm. "Uh oh, I think that was inappropriate of me, touching you so familiarly and all."

"Getting a crush on me, are you?" Tyrion grinned.

"No! No, but in a way you're my bosh. I just harasshed you. Sort of." Brienne's face heated with embarrassment.

Tyrion leaned his head against her arm and looked up at her appealingly, "No, you definitely just have a crush," he insisted.

"I do not!" She pushed him away.

"That's what all the women say, but they're lying." He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, his bottom lip pushed out and brows lowered. 

Brienne almost laughed; it reminded her of Leo's pouting a few nights before. Were men just born knowing how to pout like that? "I'm sorry, Tyrwah, I really washn't trying to come on to you. Besides, you're married aren't you?"

"Not yet. I'm engaged, though."

"Engaged. See? Off-limits."

"Well, that's open to interpretation. I could make an exception for legs like yours."

Brienne tried not to react too strongly. Her experiences at the club had taught her that lots of people had open relationships. "Not interested, all the same," she said mildly.

"Disappointing, of course, but not surprising." Tyrion said, reaching up to press the button for an attendant. His outstretched finger stopped several inches short of his goal and he snorted in annoyance, beginning to fumble with his seat belt. Brienne stilled him with a gesture and pushed the button herself. "Anyway, I was kidding. Tysha is my one and only."

"I'm glad to hear it," Brienne remarked, "when is the wedding?"

"Uh – soon? I know it's coming up. I suppose I should ask Tysha."

"That might be a good idea."

"Are you seeing anybody, Legs?"

Brienne was grateful he hadn't asked if she had an actual boyfriend; too complicated. "Yes, I'm seeing somebody."

"Man? Woman?"

"A man."

"Is it serious?"

"I – I don't really know."

"Hold that thought," Tyrion held up a finger as the attendant approached, "Shall I order more drinks for us?"

"May as well," Brienne said and smiled up at the woman in the lavender uniform.

"We'd like to switch to gin and tonics, and I think we're ready for food. I'd like the filet mignon," Tyrion told her, "Legs? Surf or turf?"

"Salmon, please," she said. The attendant noted it and left. 

Tyrion picked up the in-flight brochure again, searching through the entertainment options. Brienne was relieved he'd dropped the discussion of their love lives. She knew from prior experience that being drunk was a sure way to spill her heart out to the wrong person. Tyrion Lannister, for all that she liked him better than at first, should _not_ be that person. He was practically her boss, for fuck's sake.  

"Look here, I must have missed this," Tyrion held the brochure out and tapped a movie title, "Mormonty Python and the Holy Chalice!"

"The one about King Aegon and the Knights of the Iron Throne? I thought you hated swords and sorcery stuff."

"Well, but this is a comedy! Have you seen it? _'Tis but a scratch_!" 

"I confess I haven't."

"Oh, it's great! We can watch while we eat."

When the attendant brought their food, Tyrion requested two viewscreens for the movie. These were promptly attached to the back of the seats in front of them and both received earbuds and remote controls. 

"We need to synchronize our screens," Tyrion told Brienne as she powered hers on. "Once we have the movie queued let's count to three and then press play."

"Does it really matter if they're in perfect synch?" Brienne mumbled over a bite of buttered biscuit. 

"Yes. We're watching it together, so we should see the same things at the same instant.  Otherwise we might as well be watching different movies."

"Maybe I _want_ to watch a different movie," Brienne suggested.

"No! No you don't! Half the fun of Mormonty Python is introducing other people to it and watching their reactions. This is not a solo event."

"So it's like a date, huh?"

"If you like, m'lady. After all, we've argued, dined , _and_ gotten drunk together, so the obvious next step is a movie," Tyrion said, "In my experience that constitutes a date."

"Just so you know Tyrwah, you're not getting a goodnight kiss later."

"Oh, we don't have to _kiss_ ," he said suggestively. Brienne smacked the top of his head with her remote. " _Ow_. Maybe I don't want a kiss if you're going to be like that. Ready?" Tyrion queued up the movie and pointed his remote at the screen. Brienne did the same. "One…two…three!"

From the opening scene when King Aerys and his trusty servant Paesty, knocking coconuts together, came up over the hill, Brienne was laughing. Whether it was truly funny or the alcohol she'd consumed making it so, she was engrossed. 

They ate while they watched, trying valiantly to stifle their guffaws. The remainder of the flight passed quickly, and just as the final scene came to its absurd conclusion they were informed over the intercom that the descent into Braavos was imminent, and would everyone please turn off all electronic devices, et cetera.

"Do you need me to hold your hand for the landing?" Tyrion asked as Brienne nervously tightened her seatbelt.

"No, I'm fine clutching the armrest for dear life," Brienne said.

Tyrion chuckled, "Going to white knuckle it, eh?"

"Uh huh. And if I close my eyes I might not even notice we've landed until the wheels touch the ground," Brienne said hopefully.

"Good plan." Tyrion said, "But my hand is available should you need it."

She nodded, eyes already shut. Moments later the captain opened the intercom again to warn the passengers of 'harmless' turbulence ahead. Seconds later the plane lurched and a murmur of alarm rose from the cabin. Then it shimmied, seemed to go over an airborne speedbump, and the nose dipped alarmingly.

"Seven fucking hells," Brienne said through clenched teeth. 

Tyrion put his hand firmly over hers. "It's going to be fine, Legs. Another couple of minutes and we'll be on the ground."

Another shimmy, this one accompanied by a loud thump. _If I die now Grumkin will have to go live with Margaery in her fussy mansion_. _If I die now, I'll miss seeing Leo on Thursday_. _If I die now, who will tell Leo that l Iove him, too_ …

Brienne was beginning to wonder how many pieces they'd find their bodies in when the landing gear touched the tarmac, the pilot bringing the plane in gently and gradually slowing as he approached the gate. Brienne let loose the breath she'd been holding and opened her eyes. Tyrion let go of her hand.

"That was very gallant of you, Tyrwah," Brienne said weakly, "I think it helped."

"Honored to be of service, Legs," he told her.

The plane pulled up to their gate and several passengers tried to stand, all looking like hunchbacks with weak knees. They never learned. Brienne moved into the aisle and made space for Tyrion in front of her.

The doors opened and they entered the Titan Field airport. The air smelled different already; spices and sweat and ineffective deodorant mixed with something like brine.  Large, colorful murals along the concourse featured shades of purple and deeps blue, accented with green and yellow laid on in thick strokes. Most of the art depicted the famous purple ships of Braavos, sails bellied in the wind or furled in harbors bordered by dark pines. 

After passing a number of nautical scenes, Brienne was surprised to see a painting more pastoral in nature ahead of them. Blooming trees, a placid lake, a charming picnic – and a bare-breasted woman playing a lute, her hair gleaming in the sun.

"Ah, Braavos and the Free Cities!" Tyrion inhaled a deep breath, "Lagoon of my heart! Did you know they're famous here for their courtesans? They have a special license these days, to practice their arts."

Brienne studied the painting a moment before looking down at Tyrion. "And is a visit to one of these courtesans on your agenda for this trip, Tyrwah?"

"Alas, no. Damnably hard to get an appointment, and besides, my Tysha would have my hide. I've heard that in these modern times that there are many male prostitutes as well…" Tyrion leered up at her.

"Aren't those also for the men?" Brienne asked, continuing toward baggage claim.

"They have those too, of course. Women are more sexually free these days, though, and the Free Cities found there's now a demand for companionship of that sort." Tyrion trotted to keep up with her, "I'm sure your fella wouldn't mind, and you're legally guaranteed not to catch anything you can't throw back."

"I'm not interested. Besides, we're monogamous," Brienne said, coming out into the main terminal with Tyrion close behind.  

A dark-haired man in a driver's dark uniform was holding up a large sign that read LANNISTER & TARTH. In short order their bags were loaded and they took their seats in the back of a sleek modern car for the short ride to their lodgings.

The traffic was dense and noisy, but within a half hour their hotel was towering before them, immense and turquoise, all boxy angles like a child's set of plastic blocks. 

They were at the entry by no less than three attendants, one to take their luggage, another to open the doors, and a third dark-skinned older man with flowing mustaches, who was apparently the concierge. Brienne watched as Tyrion smoothly tipped their driver, the bellboy and the valet, keeping up a stream of pleasant small talk in his posh accent.

This particular language seemed to come naturally to well-to-do folk, and Tyrion was fluent. Brienne, never having mastered it, stood by as he engaged their concierge in talk of the weather and the hotel's amenities as they were led to their rooms. 

The concierge was saying something to them both, his mustache puffing up slightly with each exhale, but Brienne was too tired to pay attention.  The concierge's subject matter was fairly obvious, however, when he bowed at the waist and handed each of them their keycards. 

Brienne murmured her thanks, Tyrion shook his hand and he departed at last.

"My, what a talkative one," Tyrion commented, "thought he'd never leave."

"Perhaps he was waiting for a tip?" Brienne suggested.

"Oh no," he assured her, "I tip the concierge at the end of the trips. Good incentive for him, eh?"

"Right, that makes sense," Brienne said dully, "Would you mind terribly if I retreated to my room for a bit? Is it possible to be a little drunk and hungover at the same time?"

"Oh, it's possible," Tyrion chuckled, "which is why there's such a thing as 'hair of the dog.' You ought to drink more or you'll soon have a terrible headache."

"Too late," Brienne sighed.

"Poor Legs," Tyrion sympathized. "We still need to go over your speech though, and I really think we need to talk strategy regarding Pycelle. All right if I come to your room in a couple hours? We can get dinner."

"Gods, not dinner, I beg you!" Brienne said with feeling, "Restaurants mean people, and people mean interaction; I've quite had my fill of strangers today."

"We'll order in," Tyrion assured her. "Help yourself to the mini-bar, Dr. Tarth, my treat."

"Thank you, Tyrion," she said, swiping her card and retreating to her room.

*~*~*

Just over an hour later a knock at Brienne's door startled her out of a sound sleep. Disoriented at first, she quickly got her bearings and threw back the covers to go peer out of the peep hole on her door. She saw no one, yet the knocking continued. Satisfied that it had to be Tyrion, she opened the door and beheld the man himself, dressed in slippers and striped pajamas. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and his phone in the other.  She stood aside, yawning, and he strolled in.

"Did I wake you? Looks like I did," he said. "Comfortable beds, aren't they?"

Brienne nodded. "If you don't mind, I'm just going to go rinse my mouth out. It tastes rather like something's died in there."

"By all means," Tyrion waved her away, "I'll wait."

Fluffy ivory towels, silver fixtures and tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash and mouthwash, all in pale turquoise, awaited her in the large bathroom. Brienne looked in the mirror;  her eyes were bloodshot, her face creased from the pillowcase and her fine hair, all but one piece on top sticking up like an antenna, was plastered to her head. 

She opened the mouthwash and sniffed; somehow it managed to even smell turquoise. She tipped the contents into her mouth; the minty taste she'd been expecting was instead bitterly antiseptic and she nearly gagged as she gargled the vile concoction. After spitting it into the sink she ran the water, wetting her hairbrush to tame the one springy strand of hair and perk up the rest. With very little effort on her part, Brienne managed to make it look even worse. Giving it up as hopeless, she returned to the main room. Tyrion was seated at the small table with two wineglasses in front of him along with the wine, now uncorked. 

"Cute pajamas," Brienne said, scooping up her backpack before plunking down in the chair opposite him.

"Do you like them?" He looked immensely pleased, "They've got pockets." 

"That sounds useful," Brienne said, "Do you keep anything in them?"

"Only my hands," he said, pouring the wine. "Is that what you sleep in?"

Brienne glanced down at her leggings and flannel nightshirt and shrugged, "It's comfortable." 

"I like it. Shows off those gorgeous gams of yours," Tyrion said, "Which I still think can give us a real advantage with the dirty old man."

"Who? Oh, Pycelle." Brienne accepted the glass Tyrion held out, "I hardly think a grant meeting is the place to be relying on sex appeal. Not that I have any, of course."

"I believe that, as a known lecher myself, I might be the better judge of whether you have sex appeal than you are," Tyrion said. "Drink up; it'll clear your head"

Brienne glanced down at her thighs, unflatteringly wide against the seat of the chair. "Regardless, it's still not the place. I'm here to tell them about the study, which I believe is of some importance to both of us?" She stared at him until he nodded affirmatively, "Surely they wish to bestow their money where it will be of some use, and to do that they need to know what we're about." She grimaced, "Gods my head hurts. I hope I brought something for it in my bag."

"Drink your wine. Did you know that red wine is full of antioxidants? Also something called reservatrol, to keep your mind sharp." Tyrion padded over to the bed stand and retrieved the leatherette room service menu. 

Brienne took a cautious sip of the wine as Tyrion sat back down. "I've never heard of wine being good for headaches." 

"Trust me," Tyrion said absently, perusing their dinner options. 

"I'd rather trust aspirin, if it's all the same to you," she opened several zippered pockets on her pack before finding the small plastic bottle she was looking for and shaking out two pills. She swallowed them with a gulp of wine and went back to rummaging in her pack, pulling out her tablet and the manila envelope as well. "Shall we get to the speech?" 

"Fire away, Dr. Tarth," Tyrion said, "I'm all ears." He folded his hands on the table, and Brienne was reminded of a mischievous schoolboy playing at being innocent. She cleared her throat and began:

"Good Afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am the Head of Research for Westeros University's Achondroplasia study, and I'm here to speak to you about the exciting progress that we're making in the treatment and eventual elimination of the mutation that causes achondroplasia, also known as  chondrodystrophia fetalis or chondrodystrophic dwarfism."

Brienne paused for breath. "It sounds fine so far," Tyrion said, "and being able to pronounce those fancy chondo-whatsit words should establish your credentials. Go on."

Brienne took a sip of her wine and continued:

"As you may know, about 80–90% of cases of neonatal achondroplasia result from mutations in the fibroblast growth factor receptor 3, or FGFR3, according to the polymerase chain reaction-single strand conformation polymorphism (PCR-SSCP). We’ve had a major breakthrough in the study, which has revealed two novel mutations located on the  _FGFR3_  gene, thus helping to complete the pathological molecular map of achondroplasia. We –"

Tyrion rolled his eyes up in his head and fell off his chair, then lay twitching for a few seconds before letting his tongue loll out of his mouth and feigning death.

"That bad, huh?" Brienne asked.

"Well," he said, getting back into his chair, " _I_ just died of boredom, and the study means something to me. But don't feel badly, Brienne, I don't think you could say it in any other way."

"Then what shall I do? It takes time to get to the part where I can tell them about the real life results we've seen, and even then the speech goes into detail about decoy proteins and gene mutations," Brienne said. It was one thing to have Tyrion play dead, but what if her audience collectively collapsed on the floor?

"May I suggest the addition of juggling and perhaps yodeling?" 

"Only if you do the juggling," Brienne said. "I'm sorry, but I'm still feeling somewhat woozy. Would you mind if I relaxed on the bed while we discussed this?" 

"Not at all, Legs. Maybe you need something stronger than wine to knock out that hangover," Tyrion mused, "Shall I order you some rum?"

"I still have serious doubts about more liquor as a therapy," Brienne muttered, lying down across the upper half of the bed, "but if you must, then I would prefer whisky."

"Whisky, huh?" Tyrion's expression turned thoughtful, "Until recently I'd always assumed that women in general didn't care for whisky."

"I'm not like most women," Brienne said, "or hadn't you noticed?"

"Good point." Tyrion picked up the room service menu and looked over the selection, "Any requests?"

"Any old thing will do, I suppose," Brienne said, not wishing to give any trouble. "Do you know very much about whisky?"

"Me? Only a bit," Tyrion said, "But my brother Jaime is an unrepentant whisky geek. I've probably picked up a bit just by having to listen to him drone on about it." He walked over to the room-service phone next to the bed.

"I'm going to have to visit the loo again while you order," Brienne sat up, grimacing at the way her brain seemed to rattle around like a desiccated nut in her skull.

"Go right ahead," Tyrion said as she walked past him.  

By the time Brienne emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, Tyrion was whistling merrily as he twisted the top off of a Qorgyle Qola. "Do you take soda and ice with your whisky?"

Brienne tried not to shudder. "Neat, please."

"Gah! That's just how Jaime takes it." Tyrion poured a measure into one of the tumblers that had been delivered with the whisky and Qola and brought it to her on the bed, "You're a braver woman than I am, Dr. Tarth."

"No doubt." Brienne accepted the glass and took a sip. "Mm, this is good." She decided not to make any guesses out loud as to its distillery, vintage or casking. She didn't want to risk him feigning death again. 

"Would you mind if I got on the bed with you? It would be just like a slumber party," Tyrion said with a charming grin, "I promise no funny stuff."

"Please do," Brienne said. She took another sip of her whisky, feeling the familiar warmth of it spread through her body.

Tyrion handed his glass of whisky, qola and ice to Brienne and then crawled across the bed on his knees before flopping down on his side with a satisfied grunt. Brienne handed his drink back. She couldn't help but imagine the funny picture they'd make should anyone see them; an extra-tall woman lying down across the bed from an extra-short man, both in pajamas and appearing very much hungover.

"About the speech," she said, "Do you think I should I keep the part about advanced paternal age being one of the causes of the mutation? I mean, any of the men on the committee could beget a child with achondroplasia. Wouldn't you think they'd be glad to know that their offspring would have an effective treatment to make their lives more, uh..." 

"Normal?" Tyrion suggested.

"Yeah."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you," Tyrion said, "But in my experience, fellows like my father would rather work in a soup kitchen than acknowledge they were responsible for siring a mutant."

"You are not a mutant, Tyrwah," Brienne assured him. The whisky was helping to lessen her headache and making her feel even more comfortable with this man she'd hated almost on sight. "Your fiancée, is she also -?" 

"A dwarf?"

"Yes," Brienne said, "I hope you don't think I'm prying."

"Not at all," Tyrion said, "She's not."

"And does she worry about the fifty percent chance of your future children being dwarfs?" 

"No, she tells me a child just like me would be a delight," Tyrion smiled, "I think she is a very great fool, for I was even more obnoxious as a kid. She's pretty wonderful, actually." 

"I'm very happy for you," Brienne said, trying not to sound wistful.  

Thank you," Tyrion said, "Really. Now tell me all about your guy."

Brienne thought of Leo and how very far away from him she felt right then, "Not much to tell, really." 

"You're monogamous though," Tyrion pointed out.

"Yes," the pang of knowing _they'd_ never have a future made her voice tremble a little, "I don't believe the relationship will last. He wants it to, I think, but…" 

"You're afraid of commitment?" Tyrion asked gently.

"Not afraid, exactly," Brienne said, "But I've never thought I was cut-out for the whole marriage and kids thing." 

"Because you're different?" Tyrion drained his glass and reached for hers.

She handed it over, "Maybe." 

Tyrion got off the bed to refill their glasses. "Which one of us is more 'different', Brienne?"

"You, I suppose," Brienne admitted. 

"Do you think I deserve any less happiness than you do?" Tyrion asked, handing her both glasses so he could get back on the bed.

"No," Brienne protested, "Of course not." 

"Then why, my dear, should _you_ have any less?" Tyrion took his drink back and swirled the ice around, "Do you love him?" 

"I admit that I am very, very fond of him," she said, trying to recall how they'd gotten onto the subject of her love life.

" _Fond_ of him? Well, in that case maybe it isn't such a worthwhile relationship after all. Is he 'fond' of you as well?"

"Yes, I'd say he's fond of me," Brienne said softly.

"You sound doubtful," Tyrion said. 

He was looking at her intently, and it made Brienne feel he deserved at least a little of the truth. "Actually, he recently told me that he loves me." 

"He did? And what did you say?" Tyrion pressed.

"I didn't say anything, really," she said, "I...I just got dressed, told him goodnight and went home."

Tyrion looked into her eyes, challenging her, "And do you love _him_?"

"Yes," Brienne sighed, "I'm in love with him."

"Then why don't you just call him up and –"

"Tyrion, I haven't even told anyone else about what he said, or about how I feel. It's all too complicated." Brienne worried that she'd burst into tears at any moment, "Could we stop talking about this, please? How about you tell me about the whisky instead. Is it cask strength?"

"Fair enough, for now," Tyrion relented, "Yes, it is cask strength, though I don't know what that means."

"Cask strength is when –"

"No! No blah blahs on whisky," Tyrion held up his hand, "I bet you're as bad as Jaime; I never thought I'd meet anyone else who gave such a rat's ass about fermented grain." 

"Is your brother a snob about it?"

"Maybe a little. There was this one time he made me a present of a very rare, very old bottle for my name day. He figured it would convert me," Tyrion recalled, smiling, "I mixed it with cherry qola and he didn't speak to me for two weeks." 

"I don't blame him," Brienne said, "That's rather like a crossing a dragon with a newt. Your brother sounds like a real character."

"He's my best friend," Tyrion said, "He really took care of me when I was little, taught me stuff, made sure I wasn't picked on." 

"An ideal brother, I should think," Brienne said, "Is he taller or shorter than you now?"

Tyrion laughed, "Taller, I believe." 

"Is he married? Does he worry about passing on the achondroplasia gene?"

"Nah, he doesn't worry," Tyrion said, "Jaime's single. He's always doubted he'd ever have kids, but now he's infatuated with some woman, so who knows."

"Is the woman also a dwarf?" Brienne asked. 

"Not that I've heard. Now that I think of it, he's mentioned that she's tallish," Tyrion smirked, "Would you like to see a picture of him?" Tyrion handed her his glass, got his phone from the table and swiped through his photo album. "Here's the two of us on Winterfest morning." 

Brienne set the whiskies on the night table and took his phone. Tyrion looked about five and was wearing footie pajamas patterned with toy cars. Beside him a blond boy of about ten in identical pajamas was tearing at the wrapping on a present. "Oh," Brienne said, "He's not a dwarf. How embarrassing. Here I am a geneticist and I didn't even think about it." 

"Nope, when it came to good genes Jaime got the lion's share," Tyrion took the phone back and swiped through the album again, "He's not only tall but stupidly handsome as well. Here's a later picture." 

Brienne took the phone again. This time she saw a gangly adolescent with pimples and a bowl cut holding Tyrion on his shoulders. She recognized the Westeros Zoo behind them. They were in front of the siamang enclosure. "Aw, that's really sweet. Looks like a great way to travel around a zoo." She handed the phone back.

 "I think he'd still carry me around like that, if I let him" Tyrion looked through a few more pictures and handed it to her, laughing. "And here's one at a family get-together." Brienne saw that Tyrion's brother was on his knees beside him, their legs tied together. Behind them a middle-aged woman and a man in formal wear stood, their right and left legs also bound, "The ol' three-legged race. We came in third after aunt Genna and the butler."

Tyrion was obviously enjoying sharing his pictures, and Brienne liked seeing them, though she couldn't help but miss her own big brother. "This next one is just after Jaime broke his nose. He's trying to look tough here, but that thing bled like a stuck aurochs. You can see the stains on his board shorts." Tyrion showed her a picture of his brother as a teenager,standing by himself on a beach, a surf board at his feet. His blonde hair was long, sun-bleached and hanging over one eye, he had a sparse, unflattering goatee and looked sullen. "I was worried as hell when he came out of the water with blood running down his chest," Tyrion told her. 

A sense of déjà vu prickled the hair on Brienne's arms. Something about the picture tugged at her memory, "You obviously love your brother very much."

"Yeah, he can be a real pain in the ass, but I do. He has no idea I keep these old pics on my phone. Except for this one." Tyrion held out his phone again, "I keep this one because he hates it."

Brienne took the phone. The photo had to be more recent. Tyrion's brother was asleep or passed out on a couch, unshaven, his hair mussed. He was wearing only pajama bottoms, rather colorful ones with cartoons of the Seven Gods on them. Someone had written 'douchecanoe' across his chest in bold black marker. 

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew that chest, had touched that belly. She'd kissed that stubbled jaw. It was undeniably Leo. _Jaime_. Brienne managed to stutter out, "' _Douchecanoe_?'"

"He's not," Tyrion laughed, "But don't tell anyone that. Jaime fucking Lannister does have a bad reputation to protect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long that by all logic it should have been split into three parts. However, given how long most of you have been waiting for an update, it seemed only fair to force-feed you the whole thing. 
> 
> Thank you all ever so much for all of the great comments on the last update. As always they make the time it takes to write this worth it, and when comments trickle in while the next update is being done it really does light a fire under our proverbial butts.
> 
> The story really has gotten quite long at this point, and it is taking longer to pull all the threads together now. The story is certainly not over, but it is heading toward a resolution. Hopefully while some of you are still young. :-)


	25. Sharing & Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruminations and revelations for Jaime after telling Sapphire that he loves her.
> 
> With special thanks to Sandwichesyumyum and HardlyFatal for all of their encouragement and help.
> 
> Please note: Certain aspects of this chapter may be alarming to some readers. If you are feeling a bit tetchy, we advise that you breathe deeply into a paper bag, continue reading, and trust us.

Jaime stood looking out of his office window at the city below. Traffic was sparse in that lonely hour before sunrise, the roads haunted by white vans carrying pre-dawn deliveries of flour for the bakery and produce for the market, while bulky brown street sweepers soaped and scrubbed away with swirling brushes at ground-in grit from the week before.

Feeling a bit gritty himself, Jaime knuckled his tired eyes and turned from the window. An hour ago, unable to sleep, he'd gotten into his Rounsey and driven to the bank with the top down. Speeding beneath the stars, his silk necktie streaming behind him, he’d been hoping to clear his head of the melancholy that had marked his weekend. 

Instead, the wind had been cold, with an edge to it that hinted of an early Winter. His freshly bandaged right hand had ached on the leather steering wheel, and the hair whipping back from his forehead was as tangled as his thoughts. 

Now that he was in his opulent but impersonal office, with the light glowing amber from the mica desk lamp and the old clock ticking out the meaningless minutes until the bank came back to life, Jaime wished he'd stayed in bed. 

The problem was, when he'd said _I love you_ to Sapphire on Thursday night, Jaime had been certain he was prepared for her to not say the words back. His only fear had been that she'd take his declaration badly. When she'd squeezed his hand and gazed into his eyes in acceptance and affection, Jaime had been elated. 

They'd kissed and held each other until it was time to leave the room. Walking hand in hand to the elevator, the bond between them had felt solid and real. It was only after they'd re-entered the surreal world of the ballroom that his happiness began to fade. 

Ravel's Bolero had been playing; the slow, repetitive beat of it mixed with the ringing laughter of adults, feeling naughty and sated, grated in his ears. The dissonance had only added to Jaime's growing dislike of being restricted to the Sand to be with Sapphire.

"Is anything the matter, Leo?" Sapphire asked, noticing his frown.

"I'm just not fond of this music, sweetling," Jaime reassured her, "I can never hear it without picturing mushrooms on the march."

She'd laughed. "Mushrooms? Isn't this piece best known for being played during sex?"

"Great, now I'll be picturing mushrooms having sex." Jaime had given her a smile, "Would you mind if we found somewhere quieter to talk?"

"Not at all. We could –"

"There you are!" Rose had detached herself from a knot of noisy members to greet them. "Come join us! You two missed the demo, so we need to catch you up!" She grabbed Sapphire's free hand and pulled her toward the group. Jaime, still holding her other hand, followed. Sapphire had looked over her shoulder with a questioning smile, and he'd nodded. If she wanted to spend time with her friend, he wouldn't be the one to deny her. 

They had joined the circle, Sapphire standing close to Jaime with her head on his shoulder, her hair soft and smelling of chamomile where it brushed against his cheek. Rose explained, in glowingly explicit terms, that Dog had again starred in the demo, this time tightly bound as two women from the club and a new employee, a Domme known as Little Bird, had their way with him. 

Dog had stood listening to the tale, grinning down at them all. According to Rose's narrative, Dog was endowed with great potency in addition to his monster cock, for despite his rather dramatic climax on stage after a period of strict orgasm denial, he'd gone on to a private room for what, one assumed, was a repeat performance. 

Having seen more than enough of Dog in action for his comfort, Jaime was glad they'd missed the demonstration. The man was looking Sapphire up and down rather too avidly, and he wondered meanly at what point the overgrown cur's tongue would loll from his mouth and he'd begin drooling in earnest. 

Reminding himself firmly that the wench had expressed her disinterest in Dog, Jaime relaxed; he was no threat. Instead he fixed his attention on, Bear Lover; the big ginger with the bushy red beard and eyebrows like overgrown caterpillars, who was leering at Sapphire like she was covered in honey that he'd happily lick clean. The man had slowly worked his way through the group until he was standing right in front of them. 

"You two missed a seriously hot demo tonight," Bear Lover said, "You should have seen the Big Dog, women were crawling all over him. I thought they'd get in a cat fight to see who could mount his Hodor first!" He'd grinned, hitching up his fur loincloth.

"We had other plans," Jaime said, looking around for an excuse to walk away.

"Your loss, then. But you've to stick around for the demo next week. Ellaria's bringing in this top Dom, runs his own fuck-club over on the east side. Ober…Obear…Oberyn, that's his name. 'Llaria's an old sub of his, so he's probably going to fuck her on stage. And get this -  someone else gets to come up and 'help,'" Bear Lover told them, "She's calling it S & H, for 'Sharing and Helping.'"

Jaime got the distinct feeling that  _sharing_  and  _helping_  were not being used in the preschool classroom good-citizen sense. "Sounds like one not to be missed," he yawned.

"That's what  _I_ thought," Bear Lover agreed. "See, Oberyn is going to  _share_  Her, so some lucky fucker gets to help wind her up, like play with her titties and stuff, while her Dom gets down to business. The reason, she was telling us earlier, is that when two people only shag each other for a while, they can get bored. She says it’s because of, uh…well, fuck me, what was it called?" He scratched his nose, staring at Sapphire, "Something about morals…outfitted morals? No…overrated? Outdated? That was it; if a couple limits sex to just each other, it 'reeks of outdated morals.' You know what I mean?"

"Not really," Jaime said, "And it's getting late –"

"Okay, okay," Bear Lover said, "Just give me a sec to explain it better. Say you have a couple, like the two of you. You're going along, rutting like a couple of stoats, but it ain't getting you off like it used to, right? The idea of doing it with a third person makes you both horny as hell, but you won't admit it," Bear Lover paused, directing another a leer at Sapphire before speaking to Jaime. "So you can't try it out, and you can't know if you trust each other enough to let someone else help take it to the next level…'"

"You know, it's been good talking to you and all," Jaime said, "But we need to -"

"What you _need_ , man, is what I'm talking about. Ellaria wants the official couples, like you two, to invite someone else to join you for a session. A 'free agent,' she calls them, a man or woman to help the Top get the bottom off. It's a trust thing or something? Anyway, it's like kinky sex training wheels. You start with the free agent to help you get used to the idea. And, before you know it, you've graduated to threesomes," Bear Lover cocked an expressive eyebrow at them, "maybe even group sex!"

"We're Paramours," Jaime said, his patience wearing thin, "We only want each other."

Bear Lover held up his hand, "I'm not trying to  _horn_  in, man. The free agent doesn't actually get to fuck anyone. He, or she, I suppose, is like the Top's right hand. Or mouth, if you get my meaning."

"I'll take your word for it," Jaime said, giving Sapphire's fingers a squeeze. "We really need to get going. Right, Sapphire?"

Sapphire, who'd been staring off into the middle distance, nodded and smiled. "Right."

"Anyway, Ellaria's got this sign-up sheet for free agents –"

"Really not interested in any list," Jaime said, annoyed at Bear Lover's persistence. 

"Of course you're not! You guys are a couple. Paramours, right? So you don't gotta sign up for anything. You use the list to  _pick_  your free agent," the man was flushed, his long beard bristling with eagerness, "And it happens that I put  _me_  on the list!"

"How nice for you," Jaime smiled thinly. The man couldn't be suggesting…?

"You know, Leo," Bear Lover leaned in confidingly, "I think between the two of us we could make Sapphire here a very happy woman."

Jaime was speechless, confounded by the very suggestion that he'd let anyone else to touch his wench. He glanced at Sapphire, who'd been strangely quiet during the conversation. She didn't seem distressed or even annoyed by Bear Lover's presumption. There was a small smile on her face, and when she noticed Jaime looking at her, she bit her lip and looked down.

Her mind was elsewhere, that was obvious. Had she been unsettled by his declaration of love after all? Had he so miscalculated the timing of his words that she was re-thinking their arrangement in light of them? Or had she actually interested in Bear Lover's proposition and hoping that Jaime would agree to it? After all, they'd been relatively tame so far, considering that they belonged to a bondage club. Maybe Sapphire felt there was some truth to Ellaria's assertion that sex with a third participant would be more exciting than sex between the two of them.

The thought of her wanting another man to be with them had hit Jaime hard. She'd said she didn't want to make love to anyone else, but according to Bear Lover, the third wheel only played a peripheral role, just helping to get the bottom off. To judge by the sick feeling in his stomach, Jaime didn't think he could be unselfish enough to grant her that kind of fantasy. 

He put his arm around Sapphire's waist and walked her away from Bear Lover and the others then without so much as a farewell. Standing in the foyer after requesting their cars, Jaime had hoped Sapphire might ask him to meet her somewhere.  It had seemed too much of a risk to suggest it again himself, and being turned down after the amazing night they'd had would have made a poor end to it. 

Away from the noise and watchers, they fell easily into making out until the doorman announced that Sapphire's car was waiting in the drive.  That was the moment; just a few words from her – _meet me at the Gravy Boat,_ or _I'll wait for you at the bottom of the hill,_ or _I love you, too_.

Sapphire kissed him one more time. "I'll let you know if I won't be here next week," she'd said, "and I'll be sure to send you something." 

And then she'd gone. 

When Jaime had gotten home, he'd grabbed a bottle of whisky and a glass from the kitchen on his way to the bedroom. He was getting quietly drunk when Tyrion texted him. 

Tyrion: Hey big brother. Have a good fuck tonight? 

Jaime dropped the phone face-down on the bed and poured more whisky. 

Tyrion: Jaime? Are you okay? I can tell by the JPS that you're parked at home. 

Jaime set his glass on the side table, lying back on the bed. He tried staring at the seascape painting on his wall to keep his head from spinning, but the ocean appeared to wave and ripple, whitecaps lapping up against the long green island. He started to worry that he might be getting seasick. Then his phone chimed again.

Tyrion: Are you mad because I was crude? How's this then: Did you enjoy making sweet, sweet lurve to the woman of your dreams tonight? 

Within seconds, the phone chimed again.

Tyrion: Is that better?

After angrily draining his glass, Jaime let the phone fall back onto the bed and poured another. If Tyrion had known about what had happened at the club he'd automatically assume that Jaime would behave like a big baby, moping around like a lovesick lion and raiding the liquor cabinet. 

What had Tyrion told him the day he got Sapphire's letter?  "You are so going to get your heart broken." _Well, fuck you, Tyrion. My heart's just fine._ Jaime fumbled in the covers for the phone, powering it off with a resolute swipe of his finger.

Sleep had come upon him with a swift heaviness that had him unconscious until the alarm went off, nearly knocking him out of bed. His stomach had felt no better, while his head seemed a great deal worse. Appreciating for once that he was the boss, he'd decided not to go in.

Instead he spent Friday streaming old movies and eating takeaway food in an inebriated but pleasant stupor, and avoiding Tyrion's texts, the internet, and doubts about Sapphire's feelings about him. 

Then, on Saturday, after enjoying a few beers, he'd gotten the bright idea to tune up the Shadowcat. It should have come as no surprise that he'd sliced his palm open on a rough edge of metal on the undercarriage. Or when, after dressing the bloody wound with a strip torn from his t-shirt and still angry at his own clumsiness, he'd accidentally gored the coolant tank with a phillips-head screw driver whilst trying to loosen a stuck bolt. 

A portion of Sunday had been spent in the waiting room of an Urgent Care clinic after his wound became infected and began to ooze pus. He sat reading a Smallfolk Weekly that had been current for about three seconds five years ago, and trying to ignore the moans and sniffles of the various injured or ill adults and children sitting to every side, until he was called. 

After a numbing injection that hurt more than the original cut, he'd received a few stitches, antibiotics, and a lecture about proper wound care.

Altogether, not a very good weekend, Jaime reflected, leaving his office to walk to the employee break room, where he brewed a fresh pot of coffee. He amused himself by reading the passive-aggressive notes on the communal refrigerator as he savored the reviving beverage: 

Chuckling, Jaime wandered over to look through a stack of old magazines on a table in the corner. The National Slanderer, Westerosi Weekender, a religious publication called The Stranger Calls, the ubiquitous Smallfolk Weekly, Popular Poultry, and the Dothraki Daily's Special Tattoo issue.

Jaime picked up the glossy 'zine with a heavily inked Dothraki man on the cover. Facial tattoos had never appealed to him, but to each their own, he mused. The man's traditional long braid hung down over one shoulder, strategically draped between his legs and covering a small portion of a tattoo depicting a woman doing something questionable with a horse. 

Shuddering a little at his suspicion that the tattoo extended over the man's genitals, Jaime sat down to read near a window, where the light from the rising sun was stronger. 

JHe found the tattoo article and flipped through pages filled with men and women showing off their extensive body art. Alongside the article, advertisements for tattoo parlors sat cozily beside those for tattoo removal. One such clinic's motto made Jaime laugh: Nothing Spells Regret Quite Like Amy Lolly Jeyne Anya.

Body jewelry, leather gear, and something called Pony Play, evidently a big trend among the Dothraki to judge by all of the Ranches advertising, made up the bulk of the classifieds in the back of the magazine. It was only after encountering the first ad that also included a color photo for a Ranch that Jaime was disabused of the notion that ranches featuring Pony Play were some sort of children's petting zoo. 

As one might have expected for something called Pony Play, the photo featured a beautifully detailed leather saddle. Yet even Jaime, who preferred his horse power in the form of an eight-cylinder engine, wasn't fooled that the "Pony" wearing it was an actual equine. 

Sapphire would have laughed at the ad, and been as surprised by it as he. If Jaime were to guess, Sapphire had as little experience with kink as he himself had upon joining the club. Given that most of their time together had been focused on building a connection rather than using the opportunity to try anything really hard core, he could _almost_ understand why she might have been intrigued by the scene Bear Lover had been telling them about. But understanding didn't bring him a hair's breadth closer to agreeing to it.

Finishing his coffee, Jaime left the magazine where he'd found it and went back to his office. He hadn't really expected to find Sapphire's little cat tattoo in the pages of the magazine, but he was still disappointed. Searching for information on her tattoo was as futile as trying to get her information from the bank, or hoping that another chance incident would put her in his path. 

If he couldn't find a way to meet her outside of the club... Only eight more nights this Season, another twelve if they both bought into the next Season. Jaime sat in his chair, resting his head in his hands. It was no way to conduct a relationship. And if they joined next Season, what was to stop her from opting _not_ to be his Paramour? There were plenty of men anxious to show her the ropes, so to speak, men who didn't spend the session begging for her love.

Their first night at the club, when Sapphire had given Stormcrow a blowjob, Jaime had kneeled with her, licking and sucking on her fingers. He'd been aroused at the time, his cock straining against his trousers. It had seemed headily erotic, being so obviously hard for Sapphire with anonymous strangers watching. She had been excited too, though only Jaime had the proof of it, looking deeply into her eyes for the first time. 

All he'd known, right then, was that he desperately wanted to make her look at him like that again. How had it gotten so complicated? Jaime pounded his fist on the desk. 

Fluorescent lights flickered on in the bank lobby as though they'd been triggered by the sound, startling Jaime. One of the junior managers had arrived and was going about her routine of readying Casterly Bank for the day. More employees would follow, taking their positions in offices and behind counters. 

Jaime got up and shut his door. No need for them to know he was already here. That was, unless a delivery came for him from the Club. What would Sapphire send? Something sexy? Something romantic? _Nudes_? Nah, she'd never do that. 

He'd be happy with a simple, well-lighted photo of her bare face. She'd be as likely send him that as she was to send him nude photos of herself, with or without a mask. Jaime wondered if he'd ever be able to convince her to leave off her mask again.

If she wouldn't go bare, as he suspected, would she be willing to wear a different mask? Something that wouldn't get in the way as much? Not that getting feathers in your mouth while kissing your partner didn't have its charms, of course.   

Jaime took a piece of paper from his desk and started sketching. He was no better at drawing masks than he was at drawing cats, particularly with his bandaged hand, but when he finally put his pencil down he was pleased with the sketch. He'd arrange a commission and have it delivered in time for Thursday. 

He'd need to include a note, something to convince her how much more pleasurable their time together could be, if she were willing to bare herself to him and be completely vulnerable in his care. She'd wept in his arms, after all, completely trusting in him when she'd spoken about the accident that changed her life. Jaime could never erase her grief, but knowing about Galliden had – 

_Galliden_! By the gods, he knew her brother's first name! Jaime stood up in his excitement and strode to his window, looking out at the waking city. If he could find out Galliden's last name –

Jaime sat back down and took another sheet of paper from his desk. What did he already know? He began to write. 

Brother: Galliden 

Accident: caused by fog along a coastal road – which coast? 

Victims: Galliden, others?

Chewing on the pencil, Jaime looked at the list. It wasn't much to go on. Sapphire had lost her father as well, not long after. She hadn't mentioned his name, but they'd been on their way to see him in hospital. 

Father: Died of heart attack following stroke. Age 45 to 65?   

Hospital: Within 30 miles or so of the accident? 

If Jaime could match the last name of a car crash victim named Galliden with that of an elderly man who'd passed soon after in the closest hospital… 

Jaime traded pencil for mouse and keyboard, feeling more optimistic than he had in days as he typed: 

Galliden 

The screen filled with results: 

Galliden Florent, musician; Galli den Harlaw, founder of the Greyjoy Prosthetics Institute for Men, Galliden Rykker, UFO witness. 

No help there. 

Galliden, death 

Galliden Plumm, died of old age at 97, Galliden Heddell, murdered, Galliden Piper, pneumonia. 

Galliden death car collision coast

Galliden Frey, drunk driver, near the Sea of Dorne. 

Realizing that his search terms were too broad, Jaime brought up a list of only the coastal towns south of the Iron Islands. _So many of them!_ Each with a history of car accidents going back years. Maybe he should limit it to a specific period. Sapphire's scar was healed, or mostly healed, so Jaime estimated the accident had occurred between three and six years before. Jaime typed in the dates and geographical parameters, adding: 

Car accidents, fog, fatalities, Galliden.

That brought back a small list of accidents, but none of them fit. The victims of the wreck, including Sapphire, had been taken to the nearest hospital. That might be on record. Jaime called up a map of his search area and asked for "hospitals." A score of red pushpin icons appeared on the map. Jaime wrote the hospitals on a separate list, including those from the islands scattered off the shores of Westeros. 

The door to his office opened, startling him, though not as much as Peck, who yelped and dropped the mail he was bringing in to leave on Jaime's desk. "Ser! I didn't realize that you were already in." 

"Couldn't sleep," Jaime said. 

"I'm sorry, ser," Peck put the stack of opened mail on his desk, "Do you need coffee? A pastry?" 

Jaime looked at the cold dregs of his coffee. "Thank you, Peck, I would. Order up a breakfast platter from the deli downstairs, won't you?" 

"Yes, ser," Peck glanced at his boss' computer screen, "Researching something ser? Anything I can help you with?" 

Peck would doubtless be able to winnow the information down to something more manageable, but Jaime wasn't tempted to give him the task. "Favor for a friend," he lied, "I promised I would do it myself." 

"Of course, ser," Peck said. "Should I hold your calls?" 

"No need," Jaime told him, "Is there anything from Friday that I need to take care of?" 

"Tyrion was here, ser, and I was acting as his assistant for the day," Peck said, "Between us we managed to get everything done. Mr. Tyrion is flying out this morning, ser."

"Good luck to any attractive flight attendants then," Jaime muttered. "Thank you, Peck." 

The young man departed to arrange for breakfast. Jaime looked at the long list of hospitals he'd written down. It was a good start, so long as the accident hadn't happened anywhere in the North or across the narrow sea. 

By the time Peck carried in an aromatic platter of waffles and bacon, Jaime was busily cross-referencing accident records from each coast that had a hospital within thirty miles. As he ate, Jaime scanned police reports, news, obituaries…no Galliden. 

Time passed with few interruptions, and by mid-afternoon Jaime had scanned through dozens of grim accident reports, the photos and words on the screen seeming to seep into his soul, leaving him depressed and shaky. The early start to the day was catching up to him as well. Jaime let Peck know that he was leaving early and drove the Rounsey home, this time with the top up.

Traffic was not yet heavy, and he was relieved to be pulling into his driveway before his drowsiness impaired his driving. Removing his tie as he walked up his front steps, he left a trail of tailored business attire, socks and underwear all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. He pulled on his Seven Gods pajama pants, thick woolly socks and a soft sweatshirt before padding back downstairs, ordering takeaway on his phone as he went. 

Soon after, relaxing on his couch with a documentary on the origins and lore of Valyrian steel and a meal of blah, Jaime's eyes were just drifting closed when his phone began to chime and vibrate on the coffee table. He took a few more bites, carried his dishes to the kitchen, and took the phone upstairs with him.

Only then did he look at the message from his brother. Tyrion had sent a photo of himself sitting on a large bed in what was obviously a hotel room. He was wearing striped pajamas and a wide grin as he held out a glass of red wine. Asleep next to him, Jaime could see the much larger form of what he assumed was a woman. The duvet covered all but a bit of light blond hair. The photo itself was off-center and slightly out of focus. 

Tyrion: I AM THE GOD OF TITS AND WINE 

Jaime frowned, disappointed. He'd thought Tyrion had mended his promiscuous ways when he and Tysha were betrothed. To be fair, Tyrion did sometimes take selfies with any attractive woman willing to indulge him, often joking later that this or that one was his girlfriend. This was, however, the first time he'd sent one of him in a compromising situation with another woman, and it looked pretty damning. Poor Tysha. 

Jaime: You're a pig. 

Tyrion: Guilty ☺ 

Jaime: When do you expect to be back in town? 

Tyrion: My meeting is tomorrow. Home Wednesday eve. 

Jaime: See you Thursday then. 

Jaime could see from the bouncing ellipses that indicated Tyrion was typing a reply. He powered off his phone to forestall any more inquiries into his own love life, or revelations about his brother's. He was in no mood to communicate with Tyrion, God of cheating and poor judgment. 

*~*~* 

On Tuesday, Jaime arrived at his usual time, less tired but no less discouraged about his search. He sat down with a mug of coffee and began to go through the day's mail. As usual, at least a third of the letters were addressed to a Mr. Jamie Lannister. One had even spelled his first name as Jamey. He wondered…

Jaime set the mail aside and typed in his query again, narrowing it to Estermont Medical Center. Only in place of typing "Galliden" at the end of the search string, he typed:

Gall*

Hoping the asterisk would act as a wildcard for words in his search beginning with "gall." The screen filled with results, many more than he'd been getting before. He saw Gallifrey, Galleyne, gall bladder, gallery, gallop… Jaime opened a new tab, bringing up websites listing names and their meanings. He typed in Gall* again. 

And there was Galliden, and above that, Galladon and Gallardon. Any of them could have been the name of Sapphire's brother. For the next several searches Jaime tried all three spellings. It was on the seventh try, with Evenstar Hospital in the query, that he found something promising: a news article from almost three years before, along the coastline of the island of Tarth. 

Not much distinguished this particular report from the dozens of other depressingly similar ones Jaime had already looked at, but for one fact: the list of fatalities included one Galladon Tarth. 

Jaime suspected that some junior reporter had mixed up Galladon's real last name with that of the island itself. It was still worth researching, though. He entered the time period from the accident to two months after and added:

Evenfall Hospital, Tarth, deaths and obituaries 

Three quarters of the way down the list he saw an obituary for someone else with the surname of Tarth:

**_Selwyn Tarth, Evenstar_**

_It is with sadness that the family of the Sapphire isle's own Evenstar, holder of the ancestral seat of Tarth, announces the passing of Selwyn William Tarth at age sixty._

A black and white photo of the man himself accompanied the text; stern of face, piercing blue eyes set off by bushy eyebrows, thinning blond hair and a trim beard. Broad shouldered, in a formal jacket and a baldric showing the stars and crescents sigil of Tarth. 

Jaime skimmed the lengthy memorial looking for a connection to Galladon. He found it near the bottom: 

Lord Tarth joins his late wife Jenny, his infant daughters Rohanne and Tanselle, and his son Galladon in the afterlife. He is survived by his widow, Wendyn, an adult daughter, and three previous wives. Donations in lieu of flowers to the Tarth Historic Society. 

Jaime stared at the photo for a while, trying to see Sapphire in it. Other than a similarity in coloring, nothing stood out. Still, Tarth was known as the Sapphire Isle; coincidence enough for Jaime's hopes to rise. 

He typed in "Galladon Tarth," the date and place of the accident and hit enter. An article from the Tarth Tribune was the top result. 

###  **Foggy Conditions Blamed for Fatal Pile-Up on Peasbury Highway,**

####  **Accident Claims Lives of Six Residents, including Evenstar's Son**. 

Just below, an image from the scene; hunks of metal, aid vehicles, medics and victims. Photographed through a shroud of fog, it seemed out of focus and faded. Jaime enlarged the jpeg. 

_There_ \- Sitting rigidly upright on a stretcher while a medic took her pulse, her long, pale hair and the side of her face streaked with blood. Her clothes were drenched in it. Even heavily pixelated from the magnification, the photo captured Sapphire's eyes, wide with shock and grief. 

Jaime hid the browser and put his head in his hands. As much as he'd yearned to find her picture, seeing her distress, forever preserved in that photo, left him feeling helpless, unable to spare her the hurts of the past. 

Several moments passed before Jaime was able to act on this new information. He typed:

Selwyn Tarth, family

He clicked on the top result, opening a westi page on the House of Tarth. Half-way down, he found an official portrait of Selwyn with his two children. The photo appeared to be several years old; Galladon was still a teenager, with lank blond hair and a scraggly beard, though formally dressed and nearly the same height as his father. Sapphire came up nearly to his shoulder and was wearing a delicate, ruffled white dress that had probably been chosen to make her appear more feminine.  It failed miserably at this job, and the scowl on her freckled face did nothing to improve the situation. The family's names were listed beneath. 

Her name was Brienne Tarth _. Brienne._  Jaime said it out loud, liking the way it sounded. He said it again as he typed "Brienne Tarth" into the search engine. Jaime had to go through seven pages of results before he found any mention of Brienne that wasn't in reference to her family. 

She was on the graduating list of Bitterbridge University. Brienne had earned a doctorate in genetics. Jaime grinned, imagining introducing Dr. Tarth to his father; didn't all parents want their offspring to date a doctor? Or was that marry one? If he ever was able to make that introduction, Jaime would prefer Tywin never hear about how they met. 

Brienne had also published a paper, in the Westerosi Journal of Genetics, about the transmission of addictive tendencies in captive bears. Jaime wondered what substances bears became addicted to. Cheesy Bears? He laughed to imagine Sapphire in a lab full of adoring bears in cages as she questioned them about their bad habits. 

It was many pages more before he found the link to her profile on one of those social media sites Tyrion used.  A picture of Sapphire – _Brienne_ , filled the top left quadrant of the page. It appeared to be one of those school photos, the kind taken with portable lighting and a mottled blue background. 

Brienne's hair was styled into limp waves, falling past her shoulders and out of frame, and her lips were parted in a half-smile, revealing just the barest glint of braces. Thankfully, her freckles had been spared the amateur airbrushing offered by the studio, and she wore just a hint of makeup to darken her lashes and highlight her eyes, the blue of them putting the studio background to shame. Jaime guessed her age at eighteen or nineteen. 

**Brienne Tarth** ; her name was next to her photo along with a series of greyed-out links: About / Friends / Photos. Below that: _Do you know Brienne? To see more of her page, send her a friend request_.  Jaime was unable to access the links. He wasn't surprised that her privacy settings were tight. It wouldn't have been like the wench to share her personal page with just anybody. 

Jaime was chuffed. He finally knew her real name! More research would be necessary, as there'd been no indication of her current workplace or home address in any of his search results, and her last known address was listed as Evenfall Hall on Tarth. Jaime was idly wondering if the Tarths and Lannisters had ever socialized together back when families were referred to as Houses, when his phone rang. 

"Yes, Peck?" 

"Ser, Mr. Ronnet Connington has asked to see you," Peck said. 

Jaime couldn't place the name. "Why does this Connington wish to see me? Does he have business with the bank?" 

"He works for the bank, ser. As a junior accountant. He's hoping you'll look at an application for a loan." 

"Tell him to apply to the loan manager like everyone else," Jaime said, less than interested in having an underling beg him for a loan approval. 

A brief discussion ensued on the other side of the line. "The loan isn't for him personally, Mr. Lannister," Peck clarified. "He says it's for a business." 

"Five minutes," Jaime said shortly, "and not a second more." 

The door to his office opened and a husky young man of about thirty walked in. His hair was the lurid orange of store-bought pumpkin pie, while his face bore the pockmarks of an adolescent battle with acne that he'd demonstrably lost. He grinned at Jaime like they were old friends, and rather than sitting in the chair across from the desk, came around behind it holding out a sheaf of papers. 

"Hey man, thanks for seeing me," he told Jaime, setting the loan application onto his desk blotter when Jaime didn't take it. "You can call me 'Red,' everybody does. Got a proposal I think you're going to like –" 

"Mr. Connington, I don't handle small business proposals," Jaime didn't bother to hide his impatience. The papers in front of him were filled in by hand, and the name of the incorporation, if it was such, was Griffin's Roost, Limited. "You're going to need to take this up to Small Accounts." 

"Yeah, see, I figured you might have more clout. If I could just get you to put in a good word beforehand, well, I figured it might grease the wheels a bit." 

"And why should I do that?" Jaime asked, sliding the papers back toward the man. 

"Because you're the top, ser," Connington chuckled, running a pudgy hand through his curly hair. "Always go for the top guy, if you want to get ahead." 

"How long have you worked for Casterly, Mr. Connington?" 

"'Red.' About a year, near enough," Connington smiled, "I figure that's like a solid recommendation right there, isn't it?" 

"If you've been here for a year, I wonder that you don't know the protocols for applying for a business loan." 

"Well, I kinda do, I just thought…" 

"No," Jaime said, holding the loan papers out to him. 

"Say, look at that," Connington was looking at Jaime's computer screen as he took the papers, "The gargoyle has a MyFace page." 

Jaime swiveled his chair to stare up at the man. "What?" 

"Damn, she's an ugly freak. Do you actually know her?" Connington leaned in closer and the smell of liver and onions wafted over Jaime, "I bet she's even uglier now than when I knew her. Heard she had an accident and lost her nose or something." 

Jaime stared at the younger man incredulously, "And how is it you know the lady?" 

"Eh, our dads were old friends. Thought it would be cool if their kids got married or something," Connington smirked, "So I called her. I mean, I'd already heard the chick was ugly, but I sweet-talked her real good for a couple weeks anyway. Figured I could at least get a free piece of ass out of it." 

"That's rather crude," Jaime said coldly, "I assume that Brienne figured out what you were up to and sent you on your way?" 

"Nah, I'm good at that stuff. It's easy to make a girl fall for you.  Just pretend you have a bunch of stuff in common, toss a compliment their way once in a while, and pretty soon they're eating out of your hand," Connington said. "Not that a dude like you needs to bother, with your looks and money." 

Jaime clenched his fists on his knees, the urge for violence so strong he wondered Connington didn't sense it and run. "So you went out with her?" 

"Yeah, we met up for coffee. When I saw her, oh man, she was hideous. Like a huge fuckin' stork only fuglier.  I gave her a single red rose, and she fell for it like a baby for a teat. It didn't take much to talk her into going for a ride with me up to Horus Hill. Horny Hill was what we all called it, though. Figured I'd get what I could, while it was dark and I didn't have to see her." Connington laughed, "Bitch was only about sixteen, but she fought me like a wild cat when I stuck my hand down her pants. Now, I'm not proud to admit this, but that cow was stronger than me! I barely got my fingers on her cunt hair when she about broke my arm." 

"Then what happened?" Jaime asked, thinking furiously of ways to get away with murder. 

"She got out of the car. I told her she was too ugly to fuck anyway, threw the rose after her and peeled on out of there." Connington put his hand companionably on Jaime's shoulder as he leaned in closer to the screen, "Heard later on that she'd inherited a heap of money when her old man kicked off. I've thought about calling her again, seeing if I could get another chance…" 

"It's good you didn't," Jaime said. "The lady deserves better." 

Connington laughed loudly, "You're pretty funny, Lannister. You almost sound serious." 

"Your time is up, _Red_. You should leave." 

"Sure thing, boss," He waved the stack of papers, "Put in a good word for me, will you?" 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jaime buzzed Peck. "Yes ser?" 

"Get human resources on the phone," Jaime said, "Now." 

"Yes, ser." 

Jaime had just hung up with HR when Peck buzzed him again, "Package for you, ser."

"Bank business or personal?" 

"Uh, personal. It's that Olyvar again, Mr. Lannister." Peck sounded flustered. Olyvar must be flirting again.

Jaime minimized Brienne's MyFace page. "Send him in."

The door opened and Olyvar sashayed in, his apparel, while less revealing than the week before, appearing to be inspired by old swashbuckler films. Particularly those featuring exaggerated velvet codpieces. 

"Leo, how wonderful to see you again!" Ellaria's assistant said, removing his satchel before seating himself.

"I'm happy to see you as well," Jaime smiled, feeling like a little kid during Winterfest. "Peck says you have a package for me?"

"I do. From Sapphire." Olyvar reached into his satchel and brought out a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "One our boys tried to deliver it yesterday, but you'd already gone home for the day."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry I missed him." Jaime tried to resist reaching for the box, silently chanting _gimme, gimme, gimme_ to himself.

"Rodwell was rather sorry to have missed _you_ ," Olyvar purred.

"I suppose my reputation precedes me, eh?" Jaime wondered just how far that blowjob video had spread.

"You could say that," Olyvar's cheeks flushed, though not from embarrassment, Jaime thought. "He wanted to deliver it to you at home, but Ellaria thought it best to wait."

"I see. May I have it now, then?" 

Jaime wondered to what purpose Ellaria had made him wait, but given how gossipy his neighbors were, it was probably for the best. Olyvar would have raised eyebrows, and who knew how flamboyant this Rodwell was. Olyvar pushed the box across the desk to Jaime and then sat back, smiling.

Jaime arched an eyebrow at him, "Is there something I need to sign?"

"No, ser. You can go ahead and open it."

"Am I required to open it now?" Jaime asked.

"Well, no," Olyvar admitted. "Would you prefer to open it privately?"

"I would," Jaime set the box on the floor, out of sight. "Privacy appears to be a precious commodity these days, so I like to stock up on it when I can."

"I understand." Olyvar stood up and smiled graciously, gathering his satchel, "I'll leave you to it, then."

Jaime waited for the door to close behind the man before picking the box up and setting it in front of him. He tore off the paper and string and opened it. Inside, nestled in green velvet, was a curved rod of colored glass with a slightly bulbous knob at either end.

Jaime took the object and held it up in front of him, momentarily perplexed. His hand warmed the cold glass even as a blush warmed his cheeks when he realized what the object was. Transferring it to his left hand, he dug around in the box for a note. 

My dearest Leo,

I am entrusting my favorite toy to you until we meet again. My travel plans allow me to attend this Thursday's session, and I look forward to you giving it to me then. Yours, 

Sapphire

The innuendo was clear; _giving_ it to her, indeed. Jaime felt almost light-headed as the blood heating his cheeks decamped to areas lower down. 

He put the toy back in its box and propped his feet up on the desk, turning his thoughts to what he'd now knew about Sapphire. He'd found the details of the accident, along with the picture of her at the scene. He'd found her family, her name, and her occupation. He'd seen her MyFace picture. And then there'd been Connington.

What the man had done to Brienne struck him almost as forcibly as the pictures of the accident had. Reading about the traumatic event which had so changed her life might have added less to his understanding of her than learning what Red Connington had done to her. 

That had probably been her earliest intimate contact with a man. He'd lied to win her affection, and then sexually assaulted and insulted her. It was Connington who'd sown the seeds for Brienne's distrust of love and relationships. He'd given her ample reason to guard her heart, to doubt that romantic love would ever have a place in her life. 

Jaime called Peck and asked him to get some information for him on Red Connington. As usual, the lad was soon reporting back with what was needed. He then waited until just before the end of Connington's shift and rode the lift down to the employee parking garage. 

Jaime walked to his parking space, got into the Rounsey, and drove around the lot until he found the car Peck had said was Ronnet's. He parked in a space across and two over from the red Stot GT. Moments later, he caught sight of Connington carrying a large cardboard box to his car. If Red's expression was anything to go by, he wasn't having a particularly good day. 

Connington unlocked the Stot's doors and opened the hatchback of the small car, putting his box of personal effects inside before getting behind the wheel. Jaime started up the Rounsey. 

The red car began to back out and Jaime shifted into reverse, rolling out as well, turning the wheel so that his car's rear end was pointed at the Stot. When both cars were exactly where he wanted them, he stomped on the gas pedal, sending the Rounsey into the rear quarter panel of Connington's car with a satisfying crunch. 

Connington got out of his car, shouting at the top of his lungs, and ran to look at the damage. When Jaime emerged from the vehicle that had backed into him, the man's face went as red as his hair. "You cunt!" he yelled, stalking over to confront him, "You fucking idiot whoreson, look what you done to my car!" 

Jaime looked at the crumpled metal and shrugged. "Whoops." 

Connington's eyes widened as he took in Jaime's grin. "You fucking rammed into me on purpose! Are you the one that had me reassigned, too?" 

"You've been reassigned?" Jaime asked, "Congratulations." 

"For being sent to work at the fucking end of the fucking world?" Connington hollered, "Who the fuck wants to work in _Hardhome_? It's colder than a witch's tit up there!" 

"Lots of recreational activities though," Jaime said mildly, "Skiing, snowboarding..." 

"Freezing my balls off, you mean!" The man's fists were clenched, rage making the veins stand up in his neck and forehead. 

"From what I've heard," Jaime said, turning back to get into his car, "You haven't got any to freeze." 

Ronnet reached out and grabbed his shoulder, attempting to spin him back around, "Where the fuck do you think you're going? Do you think you can just walk away after deliberately backing into me?" 

"Deliberately?" Jaime said quietly, turning around so Ronnet could look up into his narrowed eyes. "That's quite an accusation, Red." 

"Oh, I get it," Connington hissed. "Is this all because I talked a little shit about that girl? What's that ugly fucking freak to you? " 

"Her name is Brienne," Jaime said, "Brienne Tarth. And she's worth a hundred thousand of you, you despicable pile of shit." 

Connington then did exactly what Jaime wanted him to – he took a swing, clipping Jaime on the jaw with his fist. Jaime laughed. "Ow, gosh that hurt. I guess that means you just hit me first, huh?" 

Connington made to grab Jaime's collar and swing again, but Jaime intercepted the blow and his right fist connected with Connington's nose with an audible _squish_. Blood spurted and the man howled in pain, blindly charging his bigger foe. Jaime stepped to the side, punched him in the gut, and caught him before he collapsed.  He rammed his knee into the man's groin before letting him fall to the concrete. 

"You seem to be bleeding, Red," Jaime said. "Do you have someone I should call?" 

"Fuck you," Connington moaned, clutching at his crotch. 

"I don't think so," Jaime mused, "But I can't just leave you here to impede traffic." He opened the hatchback on the Stot, dragged Connington up by the armpits and shoved him in on top of his cardboard box of purloined paper clips and personal effects. "Huh, was this your last day, Red? I'm sure you'll be missed." 

"You'll pay for this, Lannister!" Connington whimpered. 

"I certainly will," Jaime agreed, pulling an insurance card from his pocket and flicking it at Connington. "Lannisters always pay their debts." 

"They'll arrest you for beating up an employee!" He wiped at the blood still flowing from his broken nose. "What the fuck is that beastly woman to you anyway?" 

"First of all, Red, you hit me first. It's on the security cameras, and there are about five witnesses over by the elevators who are waiting to go to their cars. They watched the whole thing." Jaime looked down the parking row and waved to the gathered employees, "And second, though maybe this should have been first, I love Brienne. The idea that an insignificant bag of dicks like you has the gall to even be in the same room with her offends me deeply." 

Jaime returned to his car, noting the crumpled bumper and buckled boot lid. Still drivable, thankfully. He started the car and edged around the Stot, rolling down his window to call cheerfully, "Enjoy your new job, Red." 

Now two of his cars were out of commission, and his cut right hand throbbed with pain from punching Connington, but Jaime finally knew Sapphire's real name, and club night couldn't come soon enough.

*~*~* 

But come it did, and Jaime found himself back at the club. He and Sapphire had just left the elevator and were on the way to their room. 

"So, what is this big surprise you mentioned in your note?" Sapphire asked. 

"You won't have long to wait," Jaime promised. She looked especially sexy in a sheer dress and stiletto heels so tall he needed to tip his head back just to look into her eyes. She was wearing her original feathered cat mask, but Jaime suspected she wouldn't be wearing it for long. 

They were walking down a long corridor painted a deep burgundy and interspersed with featureless black doors. Jaime was holding Sapphire's hand and looking at the gilt plaques upon each door for the name of their room. He found it at the very end of the row and slid the keycard through the reader, stepping aside for Sapphire to enter first. 

He followed her into the most austere space he'd yet seen at the club. Gone were the plush bedcovers and richly draped walls. It lacked even a bed; it's only furnishing a narrow platform in the center of the room, padded and covered in red leather. A black scarf lay draped over one end.

Oil lamps suspended from iron brackets gave the only illumination, though they were bright enough to see by. Sapphire walked up to the platform and turned to look at him, her hair, backlit by one of the lamps, glowing like a halo. "Is this my surprise, Leo?"

"This is only a part of your surprise." He walked up and kissed her. She felt solid and warm in his arms, and he let his hands rove down her broad back to her ass. "Do you trust me?" he whispered. 

"Have you ever given me reason not to?" she asked lightly. 

"Not yet," he said. 

"Then I trust you," Sapphire smiled. 

Jaime stepped back a pace and straightened his shoulders. "Take off your dress. Leave your underthings on." Sapphire slowly lifted the dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. There was little shyness in her as she stood before him in lacy bra and panties, tall and glorious in her high heels. He toed off his own shoes. "Undress me." 

With nimble fingers she unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a black leather harness beneath it. Sapphire pushed his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms before examining the straps running diagonally from Jaime's shoulder to chest, becoming a single wide strap circling his waist. Another strap extended from that, going straight down his belly and disappearing beneath his jeans. 

Jaime let his head fall back as she teasingly unbuttoned his trousers and eased them off. Once he'd stepped out of them, she ran her fingers over the leather strap around his balls and the hard rubber ring at the base of his throbbing cock. He shivered when she checked to see how closely it fitted his girth and found no give at all. 

"Is _this_ my surprise?" She said, getting to her knees. 

"No," Jaime said, taking her hands to urge her back up. "I'm going to blindfold you. Take off your mask." 

Sapphire nodded and turned her back to him, dropping her mask to the platform. Jaime picked up the scarf guided it over her eyes. He was careful not to catch her fine hair in the knot he tied in the back. 

"Get on the table," he said. 

"When are you going to tell me what you have planned?" she asked. 

"It's not for you to question your master," he said. "Lie down with your bottom just off the end of the table." She hesitated only briefly and Jaime felt his belly tighten in fear and excitement. He pulled two hinged horizontal supports from beneath the head of the table. "I'm going to secure you, wench. Hold out your arms." Moving around her, he secured her wrists to the bars. "Can you move them?" 

Sapphire flexed, her chest rising with the effort. "No." 

"No, what?" 

"No…ser?" She laughed a little and repeated it, mock serious, "No, ser." 

Her breathing was rapid, her nipples erect through the lacy bra. Jaime moved to the end of the table where Sapphire had set her feet on the floor for balance. "Bring your knees closer together so I can remove your panties." 

Kneeling to pull the soft blue lace from her hips and slide them down her legs, Jaime could smell Sapphire's arousal, and the ring at the base of his cock grew even tighter as he swelled with desire. He raised short bars with padded stirrups from beneath the platform. "I'm going to position your legs now," he said, standing. 

"Yes, Master," Sapphire whispered. 

Jaime lifted her left leg, bending it in close to her body, and put her foot, still in the sharp stiletto heel, through the stirrup and fastened the leather straps to her ankle. He did the same for her other leg and stood back to look at her. Wearing only a bra and blindfold, her arms strapped and her muscular thighs rising above her, she looked provocatively sexy, yet vulnerable as well. Jaime stepped forward to push the bars holding her legs wide apart. 

"You have a beautiful body, wench," He said, wanting to caress the freckles scattered across her belly, to lick her wrists and taste the sheen of perspiration across her collarbone. But he'd sworn he'd do this the way he'd planned it out, so he squelched his urge to touch her or to back out. This night was all for her, and he'd do whatever it took to give her a sexual experience she'd never forget. 

He went to the door and opened it. Bear Lover was waiting on the other side, dressed in a similar harness, his half-hard cock surrounded by a mass of wiry russet hair. Nodding silently to Jaime, he strode into the room. When he saw Sapphire laid out like a sacrifice on the table, his dick hardened and lengthened, eager for the woman he'd promised to please last week. 

Jaime looked at the taller man warily, noticing that he was broader and more heavily muscled than he'd realized. He wanted to remind him again that he was there only as a third wheel, to enhance Sapphire's experience, and especially not to touch her below the waist.  Bear Lover grinned and took his place at Sapphire's head. 

Jaime went to stand between her legs. "Do you trust me?" he asked again. 

"Yes," she assured him, arching her back invitingly. 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"Do you remember your safe word?" he asked gruffly. 

"Yes," she said nervously. 

"Yes what?" 

"Yes, Ser." 

Jaime kneeled between her legs and began kissing her ankles and up her calves to her trembling inner thighs. He brushed his lips over the clipped hair of her cunt. "You have a gorgeous pussy," he told her, his hot breath making her shiver, "And it's all _mine_ ," he lapped at her with his tongue and she groaned, "Isn't it?" 

"Yes, Leo," she sighed. When he didn't continue his attentions, she amended, "Yes, it's all yours, Ser Leo." 

Jaime rewarded her for being obedient, tonguing her clit until she moaned. He looked up at Bear Lover, waiting impatiently by her head, lightly stroking his own erection. Jaime gave him the gesture to begin, and just as he put his tongue to Sapphire's clit again Bear Lover put his big hands on her tits, pinching her nipples through the bra. 

"Leo?" She asked, seeming to shrink against the table. 

"Relax," he told her, "trust me." 

Sapphire nodded and tried to relax, though she remained rigid until Jaime spread her lips with his fingers and latched onto her clit, sucking and licking it until she ceased worrying about the strange hands stroking her upper body enough to moan with pleasure. Jaime curled two fingers up into her and began to move them in and out slowly as he sucked. 

Sapphire was just beginning to move to the rhythm he set when he heard her gasp sharply. Jaime looked up to see that Bear Lover had undone the front clasp of her bra and exposed her nipples, swollen and dark pink from his attentions. 

Jaime frowned, but continued, trying not to alter the rhythm that had Sapphire so close to the edge. He saw Bear Lover pinch her swollen little buds, tugging and rolling them between his fingers more aggressively than Jaime had ever dared. Sapphire reacted with little mewls of pleasure in between infrequent gasps of pain. 

Jaime wanted to make him stop, to slow down, to not hurt her. But then she ground against his mouth, her moans increasing to a low wail as he pumped harder with his fingers. Her hips and thighs were shaking, her arms straining against the ties, and Bear Lover bent to take a nipple into his mouth as she arched up into him, her mouth open in a silent cry as she came hard between the two men. 

Bear Lover abandoned her tits to kiss her lips, thrusting his tongue in her mouth as she moaned incoherently. It was all Jaime could do not to push him away, feeling ashamed for how turned on he was watching her writhe as another man greedily kissed her and twisted her nipples between his thick fingers. Jaime had only slowed the movement of his fingers sliding in and out of her, but when he felt her tighten on withdrew his fingers, then plunged back in with three, pumping into her while he rubbed her clit with his other hand until her entire body tensed, and he watched as a second climax washed over her.

Sapphire was panting, spent, and Jaime waved Bear Lover back to give her a moment to come down. He knew that her nipples were extremely sensitive after she'd just come, and the big ginger didn't seem to notice her need for a moment's respite.

Jaime stood and stroked his painfully hard erection. Bear Lover grinned at him, big white teeth shining through his untrimmed beard. Sapphire's nipples were dark pink and still glistening with the man's saliva. Jaime wrapped his hands around her hips and thrust his cock inside her.   

"Mine," he gasped, leaning over her. She was wet and swollen, her cunt tight around his cock as he fucked her with an urgency he couldn't quell. She tried to match Jaime's rhythm despite her bonds. "Come for me, baby. Let go!" He felt his own orgasm building, his balls drawing up hard beneath the leather strap around them. 

And then the tall redhead stepped around to the side of the table. Jaime noticed the way his big dick jutted out turgid and red from the ring around it. Bear Lover laid the tip of his cock over Sapphire's mouth. 

_Use your safe word_ , Jaime silently urged her, _you don't have to do that!_ He continued to move inside her, unable to tear his eyes away as Sapphire took the stranger's cock deep into her mouth as Bear Lover wrapped his fists in her hair, his hips thrusting. 

Jaime faltered. She may have promised to be monogamous, but apparently blow jobs didn't count. Of course they didn't; she'd thought nothing of it when she'd gone down on Stormcrow that first session. How in the seven hells had it ever turned him on, to see her with another man's dick in her mouth? 

Yet he was harder than ever as he tried to find their rhythm again, pounding into her harder and faster. Bear Lover groaned, and then roared as he came, holding Sapphire's head to his groin until she taken all he had to give. 

Sapphire let Bear Lover's softening cock slip from her mouth and Jaime slammed into her, grunting, his need to possess her making him rough. For the third time she came, crying out desperately, "Jaime, _please gods_. Come with me, Jaime!" 

It was then that he woke up, sweating, cum warm and wet on his belly and soaking into the sheets. He gagged into the water cup next to his bed before pounding on the alarm clock. It was only Wednesday morning, thank the gods. Jaime got out of bed and headed for the shower on shaky legs. 

He leaned his head against the tile wall, letting the hot water soothe his shivers and waiting for the nightmare to fade. _To hell with Bear Lover and Dog and Connington and any other man who'd ever wanted something from Brienne. Fuck pessimism and doubt and the club._ Jaime loved her, and he vowed not to give up trying until he won her love in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, questions and whisky are always very welcome!
> 
> There are graphics in this chapter that I was not able to check on mobile. If you have difficulty please let us know.
> 
> For those of you reaching the end of this chapter and crying out in dismay that the next one isn't up, feel free to check out the new **[Bound Together tumbler](http://leoandsapphire.tumblr.com/)** for excerpts from the new chapter and costume inspiration pictures. Got questions? There's a box for that.


	26. Lions and Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's club night at last. Brienne learns a thing or two about the elite families of Westeros. Ellaria introduces Oberyn. Bearlover is still hoping. Brienne and Jaime find out about something called "Dothraki Thunder Fuck." And more.
> 
> I'd like to thank some folks for their tremendous help in getting this nearly novella-length chapter ready for publication: The lovely SandwichesYumYum for her endless patience, support, and suggestions from start to finish on this one; HardlyFatal for acting as my beta, finding more of my punctuation errors and correcting my abysmal syllable counting skills (all mistakes are my own); and GumTree, for her generosity and friendship in commenting, questioning and encouraging me as I sent her draft after draft of gobbledy gook until this LFC (long f*cking chapter) finally came together.

The new skirt lay ready on her bed, a smallish rectangle of bright red leather and gleaming zippers. There seemed barely enough material for a tacky handbag, much less something to wear outside of the house. She'd bought it on impulse yesterday, though Brienne considered its presence here as much Tyrion's fault as her own.

It had all started after a perky voice announced over the airport comm that their flight home from Braavos was delayed indefinitely due to "minor mechanical issues." Tyrion, noticing Brienne's increased nervousness, had rushed her to the airport's VIP lounge, for some calming libations. 

Titan's Roar was smaller and more crowded than Fyne Flyers, its themed décor an unabashed homage to the iconic Titan of Braavos, which had guarded the city's lagoon for thousands of years. Modern tourists sailing beneath the stone and bronze man's mighty thighs and massive, lovingly lit undercarriage had long considered the monument a must-see attraction, with the obligatory up-skirt selfies taken from the deck of the hourly tour boats a common sight on MyFace and InstaSpam. 

Those entering and leaving Braavos by air sometimes made a pilgrimage to the Titan's Roar lounge instead, there to enjoy a scaled-down version of those looming stone balls as they drank away the time before their flight. Brienne opted not to take the usual tourist selfie beneath the bar's towering fiberglass replica, though Tyrion handed her his phone almost the moment they entered to snap pics of him beneath the replica. 

The dodgy vibe of the place had an immediate cheering effect on Jaime's little brother. He ordered a luridly pink drink with wedges of pineapple lining the rim of the glass, and a bowl of maraschino cherries with instructions to "keep it coming." Brienne ordered a coffee and Tyroshi cream, which came in a reassuringly plain mug with a side of chocolate biscuits.

Tyrion settled happily into the threadbare, overstuffed seat of their booth and quickly dispatched several slick cherries before drinking half of his Pink Lagoon in one long draw. 

Brienne, seizing her chance, soon had him talking about himself and, by extension, his famous family. He regaled her with stories about his father, brother, and fiancée, no doubt delighted to have such an attentive audience. 

Whilst scrolling for a particular picture on his phone to illustrate an anecdote involving Jaime, Tywin, and a missing motorbike, the device trilled out a wolf whistle, startling them both. Tyrion accepted the call. 

"Sweetling!" He cooed, "You got my message?" He listened for a moment, smiling, "I miss you, too, cuddle bunny. No, they haven't given us any idea how long it will be." Tyrion looked at Brienne and mouthed "Tysha" for her benefit. She nodded and dipped a biscuit in her second coffee and cream. "I know, sugar donut, and I want to be home, too. Don't say that, sweet girl. You know I'd fly there myself if I had wings. What? _Of course_ they'll fix the plane right. No, Dr. Tarth is with me, we're flying together. Okay, I'll be home as soon as I can." He tapped the disconnect icon and set the phone down, show and tell forgotten.

"Sounds like your fiancée misses you," Brienne said, covertly watching the phone as though the promised picture would appear if she only willed it hard enough. 

"She does," Tyrion confirmed. "I miss her, too. When _are_ they going to get the damn plane fixed?" He finished his drink and motioned for another, "They should just use a different one. Maybe I should hire a private jet to get us home. Fuck. Tysha had something special planned for tonight and now she says she's going out to the show with 'friends.'"

"That's a shame. She won't wait for you?"

"Not without knowing when I'll be home. You should see her friends though, Brienne. I hope it's not that Daario. I don't trust that guy. They used to work together, and – _fuck_. This sucks."

The next half hour saw Tyrion grow increasingly querulous about the delay, his intoxicated whining wearing on Brienne. When the server put down another drink and _another_ bowl of cherries, she used the distraction to excuse herself for some retail therapy in the airport's mini-mall to get her mind off of the iffy plane.

After half-heartedly browsing through the typical airport gift and magazine shops, Brienne found herself in the sort of store she usually avoided; a Baelish's of Braavos with a bright fuchsia storefront and chipper, size-zero salesgirls.  Though she'd seen catalogs of the merchandise, being inside of what turned out to be the chain's flagship store was still disconcerting. 

Big-breasted mannequins, looking as though they'd been exposed to the type of cold weather Braavos seldom saw, posed atop freestanding display racks, modeling everything from bras to edible pasties with licorice tassels. Panties of every stripe, along with dots and hearts and often lacking crotches, were in abundance.

Brienne found most of the merchandise surprisingly humdrum after her exposure to fetish gear at the Club. She'd almost made it out of the store when the skirt with the dual zippers caught her eye. In a fit of _what the hells_ , she'd taken it to the register.  There she'd fallen prey to a commissioned salesclerk, who'd been able to talk her into a camisole, garter belt, and stockings as well.

She'd just finished signing for her purchases when the boarding call was announced. Tyrion, red-nosed and drooping, met her at the gate. Brienne led him inside the plane, and helped him buckle up. 

The jet rose, banking over the Titan. Before the monument was properly out of sight, Tyrion had snuggled against Brienne's arm like a child and fallen asleep. He snored gently for most of the flight home. 

The chauffeur dropped Brienne off late on Wednesday evening and now, after a long day in the lab, she was in her bedroom wearing a black camisole and garter belt with stockings, wondering what she been thinking to buy the red skirt. 

Heaving a sigh, she shimmied the snug skirt up her hips and zipped it up the back. Brienne left the front zipper alone, thinking it might be one of those baffling and useless fashion accents, like pocket flaps without pockets and turtleneck dickies.

She shooed Grumkin off the small velvet bag containing the two masks that a tired courier had delivered soon after she'd gotten home the night before. The cat, tail indignantly twitching, strolled to her pillow and curled up there instead. 

He was settling in for a good shedding session when Brienne noticed the corner of a small photo sticking out from under his cushion. She rushed over to snatch it up before the cat could take an interest.  

She'd printed the image from the internet, and it was already a little worn from handling. Though the photo featured was an odd combination of magenta and yellow stripes from her seldom-used printer, the candid shot of Jaime, wearing a tuxedo and laughing, had helped her to survive the few hours until she could see him again. 

Not that she'd needed to print anything; armed with his real name, Brienne had found an alarming number of Jaime Lannister images on the internet. Picture after picture of him in his natural habitat of glamorous society events interspersed with rarer, casual photos.  

She and Jaime were both from old, respected families, but the Lannisters were so upper crust that she felt like a day-old roll in comparison. Any serious connection between them seemed preposterous, at best. 

There had also been many articles with headlines like **Banking's Bad Boy** ,  **Most Eligible Bachelor Keeps it in the Family** , and **Casterly CEO Jaime Lannister Closes Door on Corruption Claim,** which she'd bookmarked for reading after she saw him this evening.

A doorbell recalled her to the present moment, and she placed the picture in the drawer with the Leo & Sapphire heart note. It wouldn't do for Margaery to see it. The Tyrells belonged to the same social stratosphere as the Lannisters. Brienne didn't want to risk having to explain what she was doing with a picture of Jaime. 

"Hello? Brienne?" Margaery called after letting herself in with a key, "Are you decent?" A moment later, she walked into the bedroom, making a low whistle when she saw Brienne. "Daring! About time you wore something like that to the club."

Brienne plucked at the clingy black camisole. "This? It's completely transparent!" 

"I know," Margaery raised an eyebrow, "Leo will certainly have his hands full."

Brienne looked down at her chest, "With  _these_?"

Margaery laughed, flopping down on Brienne's bed, "Sure, not least of all with the other men who'll be drawn to them like bears to honey. Men simply can't resist visible nipples. It is known."

Brienne crossed her arms over her chest, "Are we really having this conversation?"

"Yes, we are. I take it you're wearing something over the camisole then?"

"A blouse," Brienne took a white shirt from her closet and held it up.

Margaery pursed her lips critically, "Is it schoolmarm night and nobody told me?"

Brienne looked down at the pirate shirt, a favorite since college, "That's not really fair, Marge. The blouse may be modest, but this skirt is barely decent." Brienne laid the blouse on the bed. Grumkin immediately left the pillow to sit on it. "As it is I oughtn't to be wearing something this short, with my big thighs."

"Your shapely thighs," Margaery corrected her, "and they look fantastic, by the way. I like your stockings, too."

"Thanks," Brienne turned around, "Look at this."

"Seams!"

Brienne turned back and lifted the skirt a tick, "And a garter belt, too."

" _Very_ sexy." Margaery confirmed, getting off the bed. Grumkin jumped down to rub against her legs and Brienne picked up the blouse, now somewhat the furrier for wear.

"I need to go get the lint roller," she sighed, heading for the bathroom cabinet. 

Margaery was rifling through her closet when she returned with the tape roller.

"Where's that scarf you bought when we went to Qarth for the Gateway Gala?" she said over her shoulder.

"The one that you said looked like 'an unraveled hair ball'?"

"That's the one! And I was kidding, it's a  _lovely_  – here it is!" Margaery pulled a long black scarf from its hanger and handed it to Brienne, who draped the soft alpaca wool around her neck, letting the ends drape over her chest. "Just stop fiddling with the ends," Margaery advised, adjusting them for her. "There. Sexy, yet modest. It is  _so_  you, darling. Now go get your shoes on so we can go!"

"In this?" Brienne looked down. The scarf was more than adequate to cover her breasts, but the skin of her back and sides were visible. "I'll only be one random mishap from full exposure." 

"That's why it works," Margaery said, "the tantalizing possibilities of a peek are there, but  _you_ control how much you hide. Or show."

"Alright," Brienne assented, "I'll wear it, but I'm bringing a jumper to wear on the way home."

"Sure, might as well bring some pajama pants while you're at it," Margaery said drolly. "Got any tatty slippers?"

Brienne laughed, thinking of the slippers she kept under the bed. They really were in bad shape. One of the bunny's ears needed reattaching after a vicious attack from Grumkin. She put on her shoes and gathered up a few essentials, along with the gifts from Jaime and her usual cat mask, and shoved them into her old brown satchel. She stopped to get a bath towel from the hall cupboard and followed Margaery out to the car. 

"What's the towel for? Margaery asked when Brienne arranged the towel on the passenger seat before sitting down.

"I'd rather not stick to your fine-grain, imported leather seats," Brienne said, buckling her belt.  "You know, I'd almost forgotten about this scarf. It's even softer than a cat."

"And far more useful," Margaery said, pulling out of the drive. "Softer than most of the ties at the club as well, wouldn't you agree?"

"Probably," Brienne said, mentally counting how many times she and Jaime had used ties. "They have fur-lined cuffs, too. I imagine they're comfy."

"You haven't used any yet?" Margaery accelerated and merged onto the highway, nimbly inserting her small speedster between a huge semi-truck and a swaying travel trailer, "How can you not have tried them? Do you prefer the plain leather cuffs? Maybe the nylon straps?"

Brienne looked down at her hands to avoid watching the road, "We’ve used a few different things, just not those."

Margaery honked at a battered economy car that swerved into their lane. "Hey! Use your bloody signal!" she yelled, changing lanes herself. " _Brienne Tarth_ , please tell me that you are not just engaging in vanilla sex with Leo when you're spending hours in a room together."

"N-no," Brienne said, "We try things. All the time."

"Alright then, what's Leo's favorite kink?"

"His favorite  _kink_?" 

"Yes, kink, fetish. Don't try to tell me a man that hot doesn't have some interesting bedroom preferences he needed to join the club to fulfill." Marge looked over at her friend, "What  _really_  turns him on?"

 _Everything_ , thought Brienne. She remembered the reverent way he'd looked at her when she'd been tied to the St. Baelor's cross in her leather bodice, and the time they'd been covered in syrup and licked each other clean, or how a stairwell blowjob had introduced them to exhibitionism, albeit accidentally.  _Almost_  accidentally. Or not. They'd known there was a risk…

 _What will happen tonight?_  He'd have received her glass wand on Monday, so there'd been days for him to think of ways to use it. The thought embarrassed her almost as much as it turned her on. She'd never imagined telling a man what she did alone in her bed, much less that she'd like him to do it with her.

"Brie?" Margaery asked, "You there?"

"Sorry, I was distracted by your question."

"Good. You should be able to answer it, then," Margaery, said, "I must admit that I've been curious."

"About what turns Leo on?"

"Yes. A girl simply must know."

Brienne frowned, "It seems like a really personal question."

"You're right, it  _is_  personal," Margaery said lightly, "Since when can't we girl-talk? Or is that forbidden now that you're Paramours?"

"N-no, it's not forbidden. You just caught me off guard," Brienne tried to keep her expression bland. How could she say this and not sound like a jealous idiot? "I'm just curious about why you'd want to know what turns him on."

"He's the hottest man at the club this Season," Margaery flashed her crooked smile, "and you’re the only one who knows what really gets him going."

"You know that Leo and I are paramours," Brienne forced a smile, "and that I don't intend to share him."

"I was thinking about  _next_  season, Brie."  Margaery glanced over at her, "Or were you considering coming back after all? I'd be thrilled if you did."

"To be honest Margaery, I don't think I'm really cut out for this lifestyle."

"What 'lifestyle'?" Margaery merged onto the coastal highway. "You've been with one man. Hot as Leo is, wouldn't you like to have more encounters? You could participate in a demo, have a threesome, even get his permission to hook up with someone else at the club. You'd have a lot of volunteers."

"But I like being with –"

"I bet he'd be  _happy_  to watch as you fucked another guy."

"Uh…you think so?" Brienne tried to picture it.  "I'm really not interested in any of the other men there."

"No? Wait until you see Oberyn. He comes out for demos once or twice a season. I got some quality time with him last Season."

"Who's Oberyn?" Brienne asked.

"He was Ellaria's Dom a long time ago. They still play together, but she goes to his club, usually. The rules are more casual there."

"Have you been there?"

"To the Red Viper? No masks there. My grandmother would kill me if I were seen. ' _Think of the family name!'"_  She said, sounding just like Olenna Tyrell. "Like anyone cares about such things anymore."

"They don't? I'd be horrified if anyone other than you knew about the club."

"That's the funny part for a lot of us though, Brienne. It's an open secret among the elite families that some members hold certain fetishes in common and belong to the same clubs. The bolder ones, or those whose reputations are enhanced by scandal, usually go to the Red Viper. The ones who'd rather pretend  _not_ to know each other go to the Sand." Margaery grinned, sly, "I even know of a few of people in our Thursday night group."

"But…you're not supposed to know who  _anyone_  is!"

"Trust me, darling, I grew up socializing with many of them. I can spot them even with their masks on. Kraken is a  _Greyjoy_."

"The one with the tentacles?"

"The very one. Just be glad his father isn't a member; he's quite grotesque."

"Wouldn't his father be, well, a bit old for the Sand?"

"Oh, they have Sessions for those of a certain age, though I doubt Balon would be admitted anywhere but a Frey's Fetish Emporium. Talk about places you don't want to be seen!"

Brienne took a deep breath, "Are there others? People you know, I mean."

"I shouldn't even have told you about Kraken. Rules, you know. Everyone knows about him, though." Margaery waved her hand dismissively, "He's been a member for years. But Pinkie – do you remember her? The voluptuous lady from Dog's first demo?"

"She would be difficult to forget," Brienne said, "is she somebody important?"

"Well, important is a matter of opinion. Lovely woman, though. I went to her wedding.  Both she and her much older groom are from Great Houses. It was practically an arranged marriage."

"How sad for her," Brienne said.

"Oh, she loves him. That name she cried out on stage is her husband's. He loves her too, in his way, though I've heard that he is rather set in his ways and insists on only one position in bed." Margaery shuddered, "Ugh, imagine having to look at that dewlap of his swinging over you!"

"How do you know this stuff?" Brienne asked, trying not to laugh.

"I sometimes forget that you didn't grow up here on the mainland. When you have more money than the Seven, gossip is currency. Life-blood."

"What the gossip on Kraken's kin, the Greyjoys?"  _If only I could ask about the Lannisters instead!_

"The Greyjoys have always been a strange House." Margaery wrinkled her nose, "Have you ever been to an Ironborn's buffet?"

" _'All You Can Plunder'_? Hyle took me to one."

"You poor dear," Margaery slowed the car; there was traffic ahead. "Have you heard from him lately? I hope  _not._ "

"No," Brienne lied easily; inarticulate texts didn't count in her opinion. "Hey, is Hunt one of the great Houses?"

"I've never heard of them." Margaery looked in her rearview mirror, "It's getting backed up. There isn't usually traffic in this direction right now."

"Hyle told me once that his family is old, going all the way back to the reign of Aerys Targaryen."  _As did the Lannisters, so if I can only segue_ …

"Well, that just shows that you should never confuse age with class," sniffed Marge.

_Drat_. "Not to change the subject, but you haven't asked me about my trip yet," Brienne tried. They were nearly to the club, and her chance to ferret out any connections Margaery might have to Jaime were running out.

"Of course! How did it go?"

"It started off a little bumpy," Brienne said easily, "I mistook driver for my contact."

"Well, that's embarrassing. Wasn't he in uniform?"

"No, he wasn't. And get this – he had the same last name as Tyrion, the man I was traveling with, so he didn't even correct me when I introduced myself."

"Tyrion? That's an uncommon name."

"The driver was his cousin," Brienne forged ahead, "Tyrion provides most of the funding for the study, and has a personal interest in it."

"So he's rich? Is he cute?"

Brienne laughed, "Rich, yes. Cute? I don't think he's your type. Or mine."

"What's his last name?"

 _Finally!_  "Lannister."

Margaery stared straight ahead for five or ten agonizing seconds before looking full at Brienne. "Tyrion  _Lannister!_   I should have made the connection."

The butterflies multiplying in Brienne's stomach were about to mutiny from overcrowding, "So, you know him – them – the Lannisters?"

"Oh, do I. All of them. Where shall I begin? Shall I begin with Tyrion, or  _Lord_  Tywin? Lord! That big phony. He just laps all of that royalty and privilege stuff up, acts like it's still that dusty War of Five Kings," Margaery raised her pert nose imperiously, "He's got the coldest green eyes I've ever seen. He and my father know each other. I wouldn't call them mates, but Father looks up to the old windbag. It drives Grandmother mad."

"I got the impression from Tyrion that Tywin was a hard man."

"Accurate. Look at how his kids turned out! Tyrion, the little runt –" Margaery stopped, horrified, "I am  _so_  sorry, Brienne. That was disrespectful of me."

"It's likely one of the least offensive nicknames he has," Brienne said drily. "Go on."

"Tyrion, whom I know entirely too well, I'm sorry to say," Margaery said lightly, "can be an obnoxious little goon. Was I disrespectful to actual goons there, do you think?"

"They'd welcome him as a member, I'm sure."

"He's a playboy and a drunk," Margaery said. " _And_  he's a Lannister, need I say more? Anyway, you already know about  _him_. He has a brother, too. Jaime," Margaery executed d a dramatic flick of her hair and said in a low voice, " _Jaime Lannister_ ," and giggled.

"Tyrion mentioned him," Brienne said, looking casually out the side window. It was dark out there.

"Unlike Tyrion, Jaime Lannister is tall and good looking. You know the kind of guy who's so pretty it makes you feel like a real dog in comparison?"

Brienne sighed, "I know the feeling well. But, prettier than you? Say it isn't so."

"Brienne – you're –"

"'Beautiful in my own way,' et cetera," Brienne said impatiently, "Is he?"

"Prettier than me? No. But it's close. He also has a gorgeous cousin, Cersei. Apparently he finds her pretty enough. There was a big scandal several years ago."

"Why should it be a scandal if they just dated? They weren't first cousins or anything, were they?"

"Yes, as a matter of record they are. Cersei's father is Tywin's brother. Not such a big deal, right? The real scandal began just after Cersei married into the Baratheon family. Her husband, Robert, is a dodgy politician-on-the-rise, and word got around quickly that neither spouse took their vows very seriously. Robert was seen as virile for his fuckery, while Cersei, because she'd been unfaithful with the much handsomer Jaime Lannister, a known ladies' man, was raked over the coals. The tabloids were all over it."

"It sounds like you feel sorry for Cersei."

"That bitch? I don't like her  _or_  Jaime, but Cersei deserves anything bad that comes her way. I'll tell you about her sometime," Margaery turned onto the road leading up to the castle and they both put their masks on.

"Have you met Tyrion's brother?" Brienne asked. The butterflies had settled like a lead weight in her stomach.

"Jaime? Only a few times, that I recall. He's insufferably smug, haughty. Stands around at parties looking pained."

"Sounds like Mr. Darcy," Brienne ventured.

"Hah! With all of the poor qualities and none of the good. He was short with Loras one time, at a pool party up at Casterly Rock. Poor Loras was so humiliated. How could he know that coming on to an older man as pretty as Jaime Lannister wouldn't get him laid? In solidarity with Loras, I haven't gotten within ten yards of the man since I was a teenager."

"Poor Loras," Brienne said, unsurprised that Margaery's curly-haired brother had put the moves on Jaime. "So, is Casterly Rock his Pemberley then?"

"It will be someday, when someone finally kills off Tywin. Jaime is CEO of Casterly Bank now, I hear, and likely as much of a tosser as his father."  Margaery pulled into the valet-flanked driveway, "If I were you, Brienne, I'd have as little contact with Tyrion as possible. You do  _not_  want to associate with Lannisters."

"Too late." Brienne stepped out of the car and waited by the door for Margaery, who hurried to catch up.

"What do you mean, 'too late'?"

"Tyrion and I have already friended on MyFace."

"Oh no! Social media will be the end of us all," Margaery chuckled. "Why don't you give your bag to the doorman? They'll put it in your room for you."

"I don't know my room yet," Brienne handed the bag to the man, "Can you-?"

"No worries, m'lady," said the young blonde, "It will be waiting for you."

Brienne thanked him and they continued into the building. "I wouldn't mind  _him_  waiting for me in my room." Margaery said, once they were out of earshot. 

"Really?" Brienne tried to look back.

"Don't stare!" Margaery pulled her by the hand into the ballroom, "they're off limits, Ellaria's young trainees. She doesn't allow them to 'serve' members until they've been through rigorous testing."

"What happens then?"

"They start out with Women's Wednesdays," her friend confided, "most of them stay with that for a while."

"'Women's Wednesdays'?"

"I knew you didn't read the full brochure! Only women can join WW's. It's a bit like those old men's clubs, the ones with no women allowed except for prostitutes and servers?" They walked into the nearly empty ballroom, "The women go to relax, dine, drink, play cards, gossip, visit the spa, and get laid. Ellaria employs these boys as sex workers, and lets them gain experience there for a year or more."

"Are the women especially drawn to younger partners?"

"A lot of them appreciate the stamina and willingness to please and be trained," Margaery said, leading them over near the stage, "but Ellaria provides all types of men. I think she actually loses money on Women's Wednesdays, but it's like a pet project to her."

"I see,"  _Maybe I should have signed up for that instead_ , Brienne thought,  _less complicated!_  "Have you ever been?"

"I'm a member, of course, but I don't go very often. There's something so much more carnal about Thursdays. One can grow tired of perfect men, you know."

"Oh, absolutely," Brienne agreed, trying not to roll her eyes.

"I'd be happy to bring you as a guest sometime. They have exquisite food. No Greyjoy Sausages there."

"That sounds like fun," Brienne said, looking around for Jaime, "Maybe once this Season is over."

"Of course," said Marge.

"Who are you planning to be with tonight?" Brienne asked, watching as members began to stream into the room. The costumes, she noticed, were getting briefer every week. A man walked past sporting a mesh thong reminiscent of the bags oranges were sold in at market.

"I've had a few enticing offers. Who to choose, I wonder? Bookworm? Dog? Crow? Have you seen the man missing one eye? He has a slash of purple lightning on his mask where it used to be. He's new this season, too," Margaery pointed to a man with red-gold hair picking out kebobs from the buffet, "There he is. Blackhaven."

"He looks a little rough around the edges," Brienne observed.

"Exactly. If nothing else, Brie, we have variety here, and you can have one or several." She grinned up at Brienne, "At least  _I_  can. Looks like you're stuck with Leo. Where is he, by the way?"

"On his way, I hope."

Other members, holding small plates of food and beverages, soon began to wandering over to join them. Conversation rose and fell around Brienne as she watched the door. There seemed to be some excitement about the evening's demo, lots of references to 'third-wheels,' and a surprising amount of open, sensual touching.

Brienne saw men greeting women by kissing their breasts, covered or not, and women returning the favor by palming this or that man's cock, presumably to check for doneness. She suspected that those not quite done yet would soon be rising to the occasion.

How close had everyone else become while she and Jaime had been so wrapped up in each other? She was musing on the question when someone came up behind her, so close she could feel his body heat. He moved closer and hugged her front to back, firm bulge pressing against her thigh.

"Leo! I'm so glad you're –" The arms wrapped around her waist were pale, freckled, beefy, and covered in a thick, reddish pelt.

"No, baby, he's not here," the man whispered in her ear.

Brienne whirled, pushing his hands off as she spun. The shock of coming face to face with the leering ginger left her off-balance. "Uh, good evening Mr…?"  

The big man guffawed, his teeth flashing behind his overgrown facial hair.  He leaned in and whispered, "Why so formal?"

"E-e-e-excuse me?"

"It's me, Bearlover. Don't you remember last week?"

"Last week?" Brienne shook her head, confused. What had he to do with last Thursday?

"We talked?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow. Something about that was familiar…

"We –  _Oh_. At the end of the night." Of course! The redhead had cornered them to talk to Jaime.

The man was nodding like an excited child, "Yeah, you remember now. Have you guys had a look at the list?"

 _List?_   "No?" He may as well have been talking to a cat for all the attention she'd paid him last week. But that was last week. This week she was very much aware of him, and he was creeping her out.  _Where are you, Jaime?_

"It so happens that I remain a free agent, and you and Leo seemed so  _responsive_  last week," Bearlover smirked, "But as he's not here –"

And like a prayer answered, he was there, wrapping one arm around her waist. His lovely, familiar arm.  _Oh, Jaime_. " _Who's_  not here?"

"Looks like all three of us, now," Bearlover said cheerfully, "The more the merrier, eh?"

There was no mistaking Jaime's quiet fury as his eyes narrowed in contempt. He practically radiated violent intent. It shook Brienne to her core. Not with fear that their night was about to end in fisticuffs, however, but with the realization that she wanted him badly. Furious Jaime, it turned out, was unbearably sexy.

Bearlover either hadn't caught on to Jaime's mood, or also found it titillating; the fur girding his loins was pointing at them rather obviously. "So, should we all sit together? This is going to be great! Once we've seen the demo we can go right to a room."

"There's no 'we,'" Jaime said quietly, "I thought I made that clear last week."

"But the list –"

" _What_  list?" Brienne asked.

"Doesn't interest us," Jaime's tone was almost polite.

"Well, then I guess I'll just, uh, sit nearby? In case you change your minds." 

Bearlover looked into Brienne's eyes, "I'd make it good for you," he promised, his eyes darting to Jaime, " _We'd_  make it good."

 _Make what good_? Whatever it was, Jaime took a step away from her, fists clenched so tightly that his biceps strained the sleeves of his white poet-shirt. Bear's eyes widened beneath his heavy brow, and he took a step back.

"What's this, then? Fighting in the schoolyard?" A dark-haired man in red silk and leather, his presence unnoticed until he'd spoken, joined them. Maskless, his sharp, dark eyes were amused as he looked from Bear to Jaime and back.

"No, ser, we weren't fighting," Bear said gruffly.

"Yet." Growled Jaime.

"Pah! I could smell the aggression from across the room." Ellaria joined them as well, her knowing smile taking some of the sting from her words. She nodded at each in turn. "Sapphire, Bearlover, Leo, I'd like you to meet Oberyn. He'll be our guest for the demo."

Oberyn smiled fondly at Madam Sand, "I was just heading for the stage when these three caught my eye. I was put in mind of the stags one sees in the spring, bashing their antlers together to win the favor of the doe. Instead, I find a lion and a bear competing for a lady cat who, if I'm not mistaken, has formidable claws of her own. When she so chooses to."  

Jaime somewhat awkwardly unclenched his fists and returned to Brienne's side. Bearlover, not one to dwell on a fight he hadn't known he was in, leaned forward to shake Oberyn's hand.

"Madam Sand told us some stuff about you last week," he said amiably, "I've been looking forward to tonight."

Oberyn stepped into the handshake, nearly chest to chest with the taller man, "Perhaps you'd like to join us on stage tonight. Elli and I were just scouting for volunteers."  

"Well…I…really?" Bearlover looked nervously at Brienne and Jaime, "I had rather hoped to –"

"Oh, you may as well forget about that, darling," Ellaria said, laying her hand on his arm, "For you see, Leo here," everyone looked at Jaime, "is what you might call  _possessive_. I've seen it among Paramours before, of course. You're better off joining us on stage than waiting for this one to bend. Demo participants often find themselves in higher demand afterwards."

Oberyn gestured to the stage with his chin, "Up there, Bear Man, anything might happen. We'll be doing this Red Viper style."

 _Whatever that is_ , thought Brienne, watching as Bearlover looked from her and Jaime to Oberyn and Ellaria. Oberyn winked at Ellaria and headed for the stage. Without so much as a backwards glance, Bearlover followed.

Ellaria stayed behind a moment. "Leo, Sapphire," she greeted them, "I do hope you'll pay attention to the demo. It might convince you both to be more open about new things." She reached up to run her forefinger along the edge of Jaime's jaw, lowering her voice to a purr, "Possessive or not, Leo, we will maintain civility here in the castle. Won't we?"

"Yes, madam," Jaime said. He sounded sulky to Brienne, but Ellaria seemed satisfied.

"Get a couch, then. The brownies are coming out soon."

They watched as she, too, headed for the stage. "Brownies?" Jaime asked, pulling Brienne close.

"No idea." she let herself relax at last, "I'm so happy you're here."

"My lady, so am I." Their lips met and Brienne closed her eyes, shutting out the Club and the people jostling past them to find seating. "I'm so sorry for being late," Jaime said, reluctantly breaking their kiss, "I got a late start, and traffic was bad. It's been a very long week without you."

"I was beginning to worry, and then Bearlover –"

"'Bearfucker.'" Jaime interrupted.

Brienne smiled. "Bearfucker? He's annoying, but –"

"I've heard him bragging when there weren't any women around that he'd fucked a bear."

"He fucked the bear because there weren't any women around?"

"No, there weren't any women around when he  _said_  it," Jaime took her hand and they walked toward the couches, "Though I can imagine him seeking out a bear on lonely nights."

Unfortunately, Brienne could picture it as well. "It does make a kind of sense, but I don't see what the bear gets out of it. Let's get that couch in the very back before anyone else does. What happened to your hand?"

"This?" Jaime held up his bandaged right hand, "A minor fuck-up. I'll tell you about it later."

Concern made her want to question him further, but Oberyn was already announcing the start of the demo as they sat down on the comfortable sofa. Brienne looked around to see who their neighbors were. They had none.

"Leo, I'm not sure we should be back here," she said, "Perhaps this row is off-limits?"

"We're fine," Jaime stretched his legs out in front of him, "There are empty couches because people are in groups of three tonight."

"Three to a couch? Why – oh." Brienne looked over at the people assembling on the stage, "Well, that explains a lot."

"A lot of what?" asked Jaime, abruptly getting off the couch. He tried to adjust himself, only to find the pants were too snug to fit more than a couple of fingers under the waistband. He tugged at his inseam…

Brienne was fascinated. It must be very odd indeed to have a body part that could swell up to the point that your clothes no longer fit in the space of moments. That sort of thing usually took a woman a pint of ice cream and twelve hours or so to achieve.

Jaime caught her staring and looked sheepish as he unsnapped his pants and lowered his zipper. "Sorry, sweetling, I can't do this any other way." He reached into his boxer briefs to reposition matters. Brienne barely stifled her appreciative sigh at this maneuver, making sure to be looking at his face by the time he'd refastened his trousers and let the untucked shirt cover the outline of his erection.  

"I'd didn't want it to look like I was harboring a snake in my pant leg." 

"Braggart." Brienne teased. Jaime chuckled and sat back down just as Ellaria appeared on the stage.

"Welcome, everyone, to the fifth session of the Season," she said, "Our newest assistant, Little Bird, will be passing out the brownies. I hope you all read the information sheet that I handed out last week." She looked around, "Anyone  _not_  get the sheet?"

Brienne and Jaime looked at each other; neither raised their hand. "Do you know which sheet she's talking about?" Brienne whispered.

"She might mean Bearfucker's list," Jaime said.

"He mentioned a list. What was it for?"

"You don't know?"

"No. I remember him talking to us, but I really wasn't paying attention."

Jaime laughed, "I thought that you knew. He was trying to convince us to have a playdate with him."

"A play date…?" Comprehension came quickly, "So when he mentioned going to a room together?"

A young auburn-haired woman approached their couch, took two wrapped brownies from her lined basket, and gave one to each of them. They thanked her and she left.

"Uh huh. You honestly didn't know?" Jaime unwrapped his treat and took a bite.

"No," Brienne looked over at the stage, where Bearlover stood blindfolded by the big bed. "Really? He wanted to join us? What did you tell him?" She unwrapped her brownie, disappointed by the lack of nuts. She took a bite anyway.

"I said we weren't interested," Jaime re-wrapped his brownie.

"Good. I've no intention of sharing you with him."

"Sharing  _me_?"

"Did you want to be shared?" Brienne took another bite.

"You know perfectly well that –" Jaime protested, only to be cut off when Ellaria began speaking again.

"Before you try the brownies, I want to give you some basic information. If you've only smoked Yofi-Danaan, you may not know that when it's been cooked the effects aren't felt for up to an hour, though half an hour is more common. Ingested Yo-Da continues to affect you for several hours. No one will be asked to leave the main ballroom until they're able to drive safely, but you should still refer to the sheet for dosing advice. Unless you're already accustomed to it," Ellaria warned, "you might try having just a nibble at first, so as not to end up uncomfortably yofied."

"Uh oh," Jaime look at his partially eaten brownie.

Brienne laughed at Jaime's expression. "Have you never tried Yo-Da before?"

" _You_   _have?_ " he looked at her incredulously.

"In college. I lived in a dorm, so it was practically a required course." Brienne smiled, remembering how she and Margaery had sat in their tiny room watching movies and giggling. They'd gone to the occasional party as well. 

"Did you like it?"

"It depended on the situation," she said, "It was fine when it was just me and Mar – Rose, but I felt even more of an aurochs around the frat boys. We should listen to Ellaria, don't you think?"

"Tonight we'll be using a strain of Yofi Danaan known as Dothraki Thunder Fuck. You may have heard about the aphrodisiac properties of Yo-Da, and DTF is among the best for enhancing sex." 

Jaime turned to Brienne, startled, "Did you use it during sex?"

"No! Gods, what a thought. Have you ever  _seen_  a frat boy?"

"I was one."

"You can be my first, then." Brienne squeezed his thigh.

"So please, my lovelies," Ellaria said, "Enjoy your treats, if you decide to partake. Every room is stocked with munchie-friendly snacks and plenty of bottled water. Yo-Da can cause what is not so euphemistically called 'cotton mouth.' Stay moist, people."

"Did you hear that," Jaime whispered, toying with the strap on her garter belt, "Am I going to have trouble making you wet?"

Brienne couldn't speak for what would happen later, but she was having no difficulty in responding to him as his fingers ventured beneath her skirt again. She held her breath, waiting…

"Sapphire," Jaime said in a worried tone, "did you forget something?"

"Forget?" she feigned confusion, then sucked in a breath as he pushed her skirt higher.

"Your knickers, perhaps?" His breath was hot in her ear, "You know, Sapphire, I wonder if you forgot them because this little skirt of yours was too snug to get them up under it."

 _Who puts their underwear on **last**_ , Brienne wondered distractedly.  Jaime started to toy with the skirt's front zipper and she tried to concentrate on the demo.

"Our volunteer had his brownie earlier and should be feeling the effects soon," Ellaria noted, looking back at Bearlover, who'd been joined by Little Bird. "Ser Oberyn will be taking volunteers as we go along.  Tonight's scene will be wilder than some of you are used to; please be certain you're open to anything before volunteering. Safe words will be honored, as ever."

Ellaria stepped to the side as Oberyn, who'd stripped off his leathers and silks, took center stage.  The man was well built, dusky skinned and muscular, his cock a darker spear poised for action.

"Tonight we're going to explore having multiple submissives with one Dom," he said in his charming Dornish accent, "I, obviously, am the Dom."

"I doubt that's what Bearfucker had in mind," Jaime said, still tugging playfully at Brienne's front zipper.

"Why not? He must have known that Oberyn would be the Dom."

"True, but he doesn't strike me as the submissive type, either."

"How can you tell?"  _Are you going to play with that zipper all night?_

Jaime looked at the stage and frowned, "I…just assumed."

"Because of how he looks?"

"I don't know. Why are we even talking about Bearfucker?" Jaime eased the zipper open, "Is this alright?"

Brienne nodded, and he slid one hand between her thighs and nudged them apart, his middle finger tickling the short hairs, up and down, up and down until her eyes began to roll back in her head. She tried hard to concentrate on the demo instead.

Oberyn walked over to the bed before turning back to address the audience. "As you see, I have two willing slaves," he took Little Bird's hand and drew her forward, "and a lovely assistant. Little Bird, my slaves need blindfolds."

The young woman picked a velvet scarf from a nearby table and tied it over Ellaria's eyes. She took another to Bearlover and had him turn his back to the audience so that she could remove his mask and replace it with the blindfold.

"Good," Oberyn said, now undress them." Bird started with Ellaria, stripping off the woman's colorful robe and thong and laying them aside before attending to Bearlover. She removed his leather and fur loincloth in a few practiced motions and stepped aside. Oberyn nodded his approval. "Ellaria, undress Little Bird," he directed.

Ellaria, Oberyn's equal in showmanship, took her time easing Bird's negligee off, uttering little gasps of discovery as she felt her way over Little Bird's curves.  Bear's head was turned alertly toward the two women, but Brienne's attention was caught by something bulbous and pink peeking through the wiry red hair between his legs.

Jaime squinted at the stage, "What is that? A naked mole rat?"

It  _did_  look a bit like the famously ugly rodents most often seen roaming transparent tunnels in science museums. It seemed fairly content in its nest of coarse red hair, so Brienne went back to watching the appealing Oberyn.

As the Dom approached Bear, the atmosphere in the room seemed heavy with anticipation. Though shorter by several inches, Oberyn exuded power and sensuality, and his audience eagerly awaited his first demand.

He made none. In silence, he reached out and gently cupped Bear's bristling balls. Bearlover let his head fall back, stiff beard pointing at the high ceiling, and moaned loudly as Oberyn dandled his bits expertly in one broad hand. Murmurs of approval rippled among the watchers.

Oberyn used his other hand to push back the hair surrounding Bearlover's cock. The remaining wrinkles began to disappear as it was fondled, becoming more recognizably penile.  Brienne mentally pronounced it shorter than average, but much thicker. She idly wondered when she'd begun cataloging cock characteristics. 

Oberyn stepped back to whisper with Little Bird, who then walked over and pressed herself against the tall ginger. She stroked his cock, speaking to him quietly. Bear shook his head and Bird stood on tiptoe to whisper something else in his ear. Whatever she'd said won him over, because he smiled and nodded.

"Did she just ask his permission for something?" Jaime asked, "I thought Oberyn was supposed to be this strict Dom?"

"Was there something you were hoping to see?" Brienne teased him.

"It's not that, it's just…" he looked at Brienne and then looked away, blushing.

"What, Leo? Are you bothered because Bearlover propositioned us?"

"No. Yes. It's a long story. I'll tell you about it later, wench." He hastily changed the subject, "What does Little Bird have in that black case, I wonder?"

Bird was carrying something about the size of a lunchbox with steel latches. She set it on the bed and opened it, taking out a pair of barber scissors and an electric shaver. 

Dog came up the stage steps, carrying a small, gold-toned hand vacuum with the Club Sand logo on it. Maskless, shirtless, and wearing a studded black thong, Dog's extensive facial scars were visible, but so were his eyes; dark grey and surprisingly warm as he walked over to a smiling Little Bird.

"He…why are they letting him show his face?" Brienne asked.

"Maybe he's working here now?" Jaime suggested, "They've been using him a lot in the demos."

"They recruit from their members? Mid-Season?"

"It wouldn't be the first time we've missed things by not paying attention." Jaime shrugged and picked one of the brownies, "Speaking of which, what are the first symptoms of Yo-Da?"

"I barely remember, but to me it seemed like everything had a sort of beauty and import to it.  Music was more profound, eating six month old cake frosting with a spoon was like an epicurean event." She sighed, thinking she could spend the rest of eternity staring into Jaime's eyes, never tiring of the crooked planes of his nose, and the way the right corner of his mouth turned down when he was hiding a smile.

"Go on," Jaime prompted.

Brienne jumped, "Sorry. I got distracted." Jaime gave her a loopy smile, his eyes sparkling, and Brienne couldn't have looked away if she'd tried.  He was dreamy.

"You're yofied now, aren't you?"

She grinned at him. Had been grinning at him for a while. "I might be."

Jaime leaned in and kissed her, the touch of his lips rushing through Brienne like a wave; love and desire curling round and through her –

The sound of the hand vac startled them apart. Brienne looked to the stage, half-panicked, while Jaime merely looked annoyed. The demo had been the last thing on her mind, and it took her a few seconds to recall what had been going on up there.

Little Bird and Dog had both gotten to their knees in front of Bearfucker. _Bearlover_ , Brienne corrected herself. Bird was snipping his pubic hair and Dog was using the vac to catch the short curls as they floated down. Bear's cock was revealed gradually, taking shape like a newly sheared lambling.

"Sapphire?"

"Hm?"

"How else did you feel, when you had Yo-Da?"

"Do you think Little Bird has a cosmetology license?"

"No, but I bet Dog does," Jaime said drily. "This reminds me of that movie, the one with the hairdresser?"

"'Hair'?"

"No, the one with the Valyrian steel scissors? What was it?" Jaime smirked, "'Eddard Scissorhead'?"

"That was one scene, Leo."

"I suppose. Have you noticed that Bearfucker is looking a little dopey?"

 _More so than usual?_  Brienne tried to concentrate on his face; he did look happily bemused. He'd adopted a wide stance at Bird's instruction, to facilitate trimming in and around his varied nooks and crannies. Dog was keeping the nozzle of the vac close to the moving scissors, getting nearer to Bear's groin as the hairs became shorter. 

Unfortunately for Bear, the bulk of Dog's attention was on Little Bird.  When the nozzle inevitably strayed too close to the sub and latched onto his engorged flesh with a brief  _thwup_  sound, Brienne felt Jaime flinch beside her.  

Dog jumped back. An even more distressing noise heralding the release of Bear's cock made most of the men, and not a few of the women, gasp in sympathy. A perfect oval of red had appeared along one side of Bearfucker's dick. Bird froze, Dog looked horrified, and Bear said into the silence, "Are we done already?"

With a shrug and a smile for Dog, Little Bird put the scissors down and used an electric trimmer to finish the job. Dog switched off the hand vac and set it aside, but his hand kept straying protectively to cover his own crotch, as though afraid the appliance was possessed and would go after him next.

Jaime returned to his line of questioning. "So, did your skin really feel more sensitive after you had Yofi Danaan?" His slid his hand back between her legs.

"Er, I never noticed," she told him. He moved his fingers lower, slipping his middle finger between her folds and stroking up to her clit. Her mouth fell open and she clapped her hand over his, trying not to moan as he did it again. Heated as she already was down there, Jaime's finger was like a match to wildfire, burning and spreading until pleasure nearly consumed her. 

Jaime grinned. "Did you notice that?"

"Barely," she said, taking her hand off his to put it where it belonged – in  _his_  lap.

"Liar." Jaime stroked her again.

She feared she might purr or drool or both. "How…how often do you suppose they clean these couches?"

Jaime leaned over to kiss her neck and collarbone and explore beneath her scarf with his other hand. "Are you more worried about what other people have done on it, or what we want to do on it?"

"We want?" Brienne sucked in a breath as he cupped her breast and grazed the nipple with his thumb. Gods, did she  _want_. "You know that we shouldn't."

"There are too many things we shouldn't do, wench." His voice was strained, likely owing to the way she was caressing him through his pants. He slouched down on the couch a little, giving her more access. "I want to do everything with you, my love."  _My love_.  _Oh, yes_. "Damn, that feels good. You have no idea what you do to me, my lady."

"Don't I?"

"I think I'm starting to feel it," Jaime murmured.

"Of course you are." Brienne wondered if anyone would notice should she happen to lower his zipper. Maybe she should concentrate on the demo before she was tempted to take things too far.

Little Bird had left Bear with a neatly trimmed triangle of hair and Dog had left the stage with the possessed hand-vac.  Bird went to confer briefly with Oberyn, who got onto the bed and lay on his side. 

Brienne noticed that they'd added a slanted demonstration mirror overhead, much like you'd see over a cooking or art demonstration class. The view of Oberyn from above wasn't unpleasant.

Bird went to the little table and picked up a set of clips connected by a metal chain before going to Ellaria. She took her time licking and sucking each of the woman's nipples to hardness before tightening the rubber-tipped clamps.

Ellaria's gasp of pleasure as each nipple was pinched and held by the device turned Brienne's sympathetic cringe to curiosity. She hadn't forgotten the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain of having Jaime biting her at just the right moment. How would he feel about using something like that with her?

Little Bird, pulling her by chain between the clamps, led Ellaria to the bed and released her to join Oberyn. She climbed up on the bed and then up onto Oberyn. He held her hips as she sank down on his cock. They were soon moving together with a grace born of long familiarity.

Bird prepared Bearfucker next, and though he obviously enjoyed the process of having his nipples teased, wasn't as thrilled when Little Bird tightened the clamps, hissing through his teeth as each closed on his flesh. 

Bird led him to the bed and held his arm to steady him as he got onto it to kneel next to the Dom's head. Oberyn rolled Ellaria beneath him so he could grasp Bear's thick cock, pumping it a few times before taking it in his mouth.

Jaime began to chuckle, and Brienne smiled. "What's funny?" she asked.

"I just doubt that's what Bearfucker was expecting."

Brienne looked at Bear, who'd put his hands in Oberyn's hair and was gasping, not unhappily, like a landed fish. "I thought he agreed to it? Unenthusiastically at first, but he consented."

"That was to being shaved, wasn't it?" Jaime said, "And in the context of the demo, wouldn't getting sucked off by Oberyn be part of the scene, and not something he'd be told ahead of time?"

"So you don't think he realizes who's sucking his cock? How could he not?"

"Cocks know nothing," Jaime said, half-seriously, "analyzing who's handling it wouldn't be its first priority."

"That reminds me, are you feeling something?" She lowered his zipper and worked her hand into his briefs, "Was it this?" In her hand, his cock was warm and hard, as she'd expected, but the contours of him, the softness of his skin and the smell of his arousal, even the way he closed his eyes and shifted closer to her, filled her with such an aching sense of familiarity and love that she had to blink away tears.  

She leaned her head against Jaime's, almost beyond caring that both of them were semi-exposed and engaged in something that ought to be private. Had they been in such a compromising position anywhere else, some smartass would have told them to 'get a room.' They'd have been right.

Jaime hadn't stopped touching her since he'd unzipped her skirt, though he'd never settled into any identifiable rhythm. His fingers teased and explored, hot and slick and  _random_ , in a way that had her teetering on the edge, but never quite going over it.

Jaime slouched down on the couch, his long legs in front of him, "You know wench, with everyone busy watching the demo this would be the perfect time for you to sit on my lap." 

"Why would I need to do that?"

"You're worried about people seeing what we're up to, aren't you? If you sit on my lap we can still see the demo." Jaime's grin widened, "Or, if you sit facing me, we can  _avoid_  seeing it. Your choice, of course. I'm happy with either."

Brienne could picture what he suggested. Lacking knickers, it would be easy. Too easy. "You're incorrigible."

"I am, aren't I?"

"The idea has some appeal, I'll admit, but if you think no one would know what we were up to-" Brienne looked at the stage and shook her head. 

Jaime could be correct, though; the threesome had changed positions and the watchers on the couches seemed rapt. There must be countless combinations they could try up there. Jaime was right – they could avoid watching it altogether. 

Little Bird had left the stage and was weaving her way along the couches, stopping to speak to each trio or couple. Brienne re-zipped her skirt and nudged Jaime, "Look alive; I think we may have company."  

"Hm?" Jaime pushed himself back upright, not bothering with his zipper. Little Bird walking entered their row, looking like the poster child for naked perfection.

The young woman was tall but not towering, with a full bust, a waist that curved in where it ought to, and slim hips. Nary a jiggle shook her thighs, and, most depressing of all, her skin was covered with the sort of pale, uniform freckles men went wild for.

"I need another male volunteer," Bird said, her eyes assessing as they roamed over Jaime.  _She'd_  have straddled him happily, Brienne was sure of it.

"Sorry," Jaime drawled, smiling. He took Brienne's hand and gave it a squeeze, "I'm Sapphire's, and she doesn't share."

"You're both welcome to come up," Little Bird assured him, "There's room for everyone. In fact, why  _don't_  you both come up? Once the blindfolds are on, you won't even know who's with whom."

Jaime sat up straighter, smile gone, " _I_  don't share either."

Little Bird frowned prettily, "Don't think of it as 'sharing,'" she said, "Think of it as caring enough for your partner to let them experience all of the pleasures available to them."

"I  _am_  all the pleasure available to her," Jaime looked back at Brienne, his expression softening. "Thank you for the offer, but my lady and I have other plans."

"Well, if you're certain," Little Bird turned to look at the stage. Dog was readying another blindfold and he had a couple of toys set out on a small table. She smiled wistfully at him, "Feel free to join us if you change your minds."

Brienne watched her walk away. Her own ass hadn't been that baby smooth when she  _was_  a baby. She glanced at Jaime to see if he'd noticed the youthful bum's retreat, but he was watching her instead.

"Sharing is caring now?" His amused smile faltered when he saw the doubt in Brienne's eyes. "Sweet Sapphire, how can I make you stop doubting me?"

"I'm not doubting you, Ja – just… jealous."  _That was close!_

"I don't care if a thousand naked women stick their tits in my face and offer to take me away and do filthy things to me," he picked up the edge of her scarf and rubbed the soft wool with his fingers. "Speaking of which, what's up with this thing? It's been driving me crazy all evening. The garters and forgotten undies weren't enough torture?"

"I hadn't intended them as torture."

"Sure you did," he said easily, "you had to know how badly I'd want you after a week apart, but that wasn't enough, was it?"

"Leo…"

"I want to see what this scarf is hiding. I want to push your skirt up and  _taste_  you.  I want to lay you back on this couch and  _take_  you," his eyes were predatory behind the lion mask.

"So I'm guessing you're pretty yofied now?"

"I don't need a drug to want to you, wench."

"No, but I think both of us are a little compromised now. You may not realize it, but you're in very real danger of me laying you back and having my way," Brienne joked. At least, she thought it was a joke.

"You think I'm such a pushover?" Jaime flicked his hair back precisely the way Margaery had in the car, "Or has this Dothraki Thunder Fuck that I unknowingly ingested put me at risk of being taken advantage of?" He leaned in and pressed his nose against hers, their masks rustling together, "I hope so."

"It's not like that. Yo-Da doesn't shut down your inhibitions like alcohol," Brienne looked down at his open zipper. "Well, it's not supposed to," she amended, gently easing it up. "Maybe we should just watch the demo for a while. Ellaria said this was supposed to be like Bearlover's audition for being our third, didn't she?"

"No, she didn't. And if what I just saw was an audition -" Jaime winced, "for a threesome with  _us?_  Are you implying that I'd be doing  _that_  to Bear?" He glanced up at the stage, wrinkled his nose as he noted that the trio had shifted again. "And he sure as fuck isn't doing  _that_  to me."

"What? Sucking cock?" Brienne tried not to laugh at Jaime's indignant expression, "You can't even say it, can you Leo?" Brienne picked up one of his hands and kissed his knuckles, "You're such a delicate flower."

"You're mean when you're high," Jaime crossed his arms. For what seem a long time Brienne examined his biceps. "Is this a new thing, or are you always obnoxious on Dothraki Thunder Fuck?"

"I've never had Tothraki Funder Duck before, so I couldn't say. I do remember smiling until my cheeks hurt, but I kept to myself. Rose was the social one, always the center of attention. She really loves to be in the spotlight."

"Yes, I can see that," Jaime gestured at the stage, "though I think she'll be sharing the stage this time."

Brienne's eyes darted to the stage, then back just as quickly, "Why didn't you warn me that she was  _naked_?"

"I had no idea you'd be such a delicate flower about it," Jaime said, looking at the stage, "And if I'm not mistaken, Little Bird and Dog are fussing over her quite a lot. I'm not sure if they're part of a new scene or just getting her ready."

"Leo, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can watch her up there. What am I going to do?"

"She's looking over here," Jaime said, poking Brienne in the ribs, "…and she's waving." He raised his hand and smiled.

" _Shit! I'm too high for this!_ " Brienne muttered, pasting a smile on her face to wave.

Margaery bounced on her toes, as she usually did when she was excited. Dog moved in front of her to shield her from the audience while Little Bird turned her around to swap the rose mask for a blindfold.

 From a panel in the ceiling Brienne saw a harness of some type descend to the stage, stopping about three feet from the ground. Silver buckles and rings caught the light as it swayed.

"Oh, they're going to use the sex swing," Jaime remarked, "We missed that demonstration before. Are you certain you don't want to stay and –"

" _Leo_. We need to leave now, while she can't see us going."

"You weren't bothered when Ellaria was up there." 

Brienne looked at the stage again. Where  _was_  Ellaria? And Oberyn and Bear? She looked back at the scene just getting started; Little Bird was removing Dog's thong. His giant cock bobbed out to scattered applause.   _Are he and Margaery…?_

Dog hoisted Margaery in his arms and carried her to the swing. As he strapped her in, Little Bird held up something for the audience. It looked like a blunt pink unicorn horn with straps. Little Bird strapped it on, the horn jutting from her chin.  Not a unicorn after all, then. So, would it be Dog, Margaery, and Little Bird?

"Okay. We can go now." Jaime said, getting off the couch.

"Oh, when  _you_  don't want to watch something we can leave, but –"  

Oberyn mounted the stairs to the stage. His hair was damp and his cock flaccid. Presumably, it would be ready for round two or three when it needed to be. Oberyn selected a small flogger from the table and advanced on the swing. Oh, a four-way.

"Race you to the room?"

***

Racing turned out to be impractical, as they had to stop by the concierge desk for their room card. They quickly found that walking while yofied, though not the same as being staggering drunk, was a challenge.

Holding hands allowed them to keep a check on each other, but getting to the lift seemed to take forever. Jaime was uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze fixed on the engraved buttons of the elevator's control panel. 

Her own thoughts were all over the place, from wondering if the concierge's suspenders chafed to whether she and Jaime would get to spend the night if they ate the rest of their brownies. Would they be able to stay in their rooms, or would it be like a big slumber party in the ballroom? 

"Have they remodeled the elevator?" Jaime asked.

Brienne looked around. Hadn't the ceilings always had gold crown molding? The marble flooring was also vaguely familiar, as were the seahorse designs carved into the dark wood walls. "I don't think so. Does something seem different?"

"I don't know. The control panel buttons don't look like buttons. They look like jewelry."

"I think they're the same. You're just really  _looking_  for the first time."

Jaime squeezed her hand. "That's because I'd always rather look at you when we're together, wench."

"It's easy to get distracted on Yo-Da," Brienne said, "but thank you." The lift chimed at their floor and the door slid back. Brienne started to exit, but Jaime, still clutching her hand, didn't move. "Are you alright?" She was already out, their arms stretched above the threshold.

"I'm dizzy." Jaime took a step.

"Can you walk, or shall I call for help?"

"Help? Wench, there is nothing the two of us can't do better on our own. I thought we agreed on that." He took another step, and then another, managing to knock his shoulder against the wall despite Brienne's guidance. "Didn't you tell me this  _wasn't_  like being drunk?"

"It can affect still your coordination," Brienne smiled, "How do you feel, otherwise?"

"I feel…do you know how much I love your nose?" His lopsided grin widened as she automatically hid her nose behind her hand, "I think I could write an ode to that nose."

"You're very silly," she told him, charmed for once by his inability to see her flaws.

"Maybe a sonnet," he added as they entered the corridor together, "or a haiku. Hang on." He stopped walking and began haltingly: "Sapphire is my girl. Her nose is very cute…wait, is it five or six on the middle line?"

"It's seven."

"Even better. Sapphire is my love. She has the most adorable nose – how many was that?"

"That was  _nine_." She opted not to mention he'd changed "girl" to "love" in the first line.

"Oh. She has a charming nose. No, that was six. Her nose makes me horny. Damn, six again."

"Are we going to stand in the hallway all night?" Brienne asked, not minding at all.

"She is an amazing woman," he counted mentally and nodded, satisfied. "Sapphire is my love. She’s an amazing woman. Her nose makes me hot." Jaime grinned, pleased with himself.

"No one's ever written a poem for me before."

"Technically, I haven’t either. Should I write this one down?" They started them walking again, though not in anything resembling a straight line.

"Would you? I can keep it with the whisky note."

"You still have that?" His delighted smile sent her heart racing.  _That and more, darling man_. What would he think about the picture she'd printed?

"Of course I do, though Grumkin tried to eat it! I put it in a safe place."

Jaime wandered too close to the wall and leaned into it as they walked, nearly tripping over both their feet. "What about me? Do I get a haiku?"

"You want one?" Brienne tried to get him away from the wall. Her legs felt wobbly. "I don't know how people can drive like this."

"Good thing we'll just be holed up in our room," Jaime said, "and yes – I want a poem."

"I'll try." She stopped them so she could think. Everything that came to mind was…well, sappy. Did he want sappy, or would he prefer something sexy? "I met a man once," she began, "Fine as single malt whisky" He smiled encouragingly at her.  _Five syllables: I'm in love with him...I’d keep him cellared forever. Nope, that was creepy **and** had too many syllables._ Jaime was looking at her expectantly _. “_ And I’ll never be the same _._ Too corny? _"_

"No, it's perfect," he kissed her. "You'll write that down for me? I think our room is just ahead."

The plaque on the door was black and smooth like glass, Dragonstone embossed in elegant serif lettering. With only a little fumbling, Jaime managed to slide the card into the reader and push the door open.

He led them straight to the bed and fell onto the satin duvet, taking her down with him. "Finally." he sighed. "This was such a long week, wench, waiting to be with you again."

"At least we're together now." She lay down on her side facing him, a little uncertain; had he planned anything special? Did he want to make love, or talk for a while? "I've missed you. Why does the time pass so slowly when we're apart?"

"Because we shouldn't be apart, wench." He held out his arms and she snuggled into them.

 _He's not wrong_ , Brienne thought, basking in the sensation of his body next to hers. The vague sense that she should refute what he'd said, say something flippant in denial, passed through her mind like a vapor and vanished. Not tonight, and not to  _Jaime_. How could she?

"Will you tell me about your week?" she asked, hooking a leg over his.

"I will if you want me too, love. Though I already have, in a way," He moved his leg between hers, easily nudging aside her short skirt to press the hard muscles of his thigh where she was burning to feel him. "I seem to keep up a running dialog with you in my head."

"I do that too! It's more of a monologue though, because you never do answer back." Jaime rocked her on his leg and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head.

"Do you really think about me that much?" Jaime rolled on top of her.

"Mm, yes I do. For instance, I'll say, "'isn't this a pretty day?' or, "do you like Essosi noodles with vegetables, or no?' And then I imagine you answering by making me forget the question." Brienne's laughed, "I'm not complaining, but my imagination is a poor substitute, and…" she trailed off. He was too distracting. What had she been saying?  "And… gods, you're good…and you've had  _both_  of my favorite toys all week."

"'Both'? I only received one."

"That's because you already had the other one." Reaching between them for his zipper, Brienne grabbed the metal tab and pulled. It didn't budge. Almost whimpering in frustration, she tried to shift the obstacle to the side so the zipper might have a smooth path down. No use. She tried the button, pulling his waistband tighter to unfasten it. Jaime was laughing at her. "What's so funny?"

"You just look so determined and you don't even realize what you're doing to me every time you try to move my cock out of the way. I can't decide whether to laugh or moan."

"Can't you do both?" Brienne said tartly. Defeated by a zipper! 

"Laugh and moan at the same time?" Jaime said, "Can't be done."

"Hmph. So what do we do now? Your pants have my toy hostage." 

"Well, I've still got your other one, and I've had plenty of time to plan what I'm going to do to you with it. It's a snap, by the way. Not a button."

"Wh - what?"

"You're holding it closed rather than just pulling it open. On my pants?"

"Oh. And you think it chivalrous to let me struggle with it? Maybe I should just let you free it yourself."

"Wench, the way my cock wants you right now, I'm surprised it hasn't gotten free by itself." He sat back on his heels and reached into his pocket, producing a lump of brown wrapped in plastic. "Do you want more brownie? I think I like this Lightning Fuck," he looked down at the sweet for a moment, "Did you wad it up like this?"

"No. That's from you putting it in your pocket."

"I did this?"

"Well,  _I_  didn't put it there. You must have 'short term memory loss,' ser. And it's 'Thunder Fuck,' not 'lightning.'"

"You called it Funder Duck earlier," Jaime said, peeling away the wrapper and taking a bite.

"I'm pretty far gone already. What do I get if I have more?" 

He pinched off a piece and held it over her mouth, "I'll deal with my zipper. Did you bring your gift?"

"Yes –" He dropped the chocolate into her open mouth. She frowned at him fiercely, but chewed and swallowed anyway. "Yes, I brought them both." Pinned, Brienne wriggled until she could see around his shoulder.  Her satchel was hanging from the backrest of a chair in the far corner. A small, dark duffel bag rested on the floor beside that. "It's over there. Do you have a gray duffle bag?"

"Yes, that's mine," He said, not looking around. "Would you put one of the new masks on for me?"

"I will. If you'll keep your promise to deal with the zipper." Her mouth felt dry. At least something did. Jaime kissed her quick and rolled off her, almost falling on the floor when his feet hit the floor but his legs didn't get the message. 

Brienne tried not to snicker as he unsteadily walked to the chair, dropping into it as though his strings had been cut. He kicked off his boots and leaned them against the wall with his socks inside.

"I really like your boots," Brienne said dreamily. "All you need is a broadsword to hang off your hip. You'd make a perfect knight."

"Yeah?" Jaime stood up, "I was worried this would all look too Targ-Faire."

"No," Brienne studied him, "Your hair is the perfect length, and that shirt is very 'romantic hero,' especially if you put a sword belt on over it." Brienne scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up. "You're stirring up all of my girlish romantic notions, ser."

Jaime laughed. "Am I? Maybe I can wear all this for you again some time. I even have a sword. Don't look at me like that – I meant a real one." He took off the shirt, draped it over the boots and retrieved his bag from the chair. He went to stand in front of her, "Tell me more about these romantic notions." He slung the duffle onto the bed behind her.

"Not much to tell."

He was looking down at her affectionately, "You'll tell me later." He unsnapped his pants.

Brienne leaned forward, "I think I can take it from here." She unzipped and lowered his pants and he stepped out of them. 

"At least one of us remembered their underwear," Brienne joked, sliding her fingers under the waistband of his briefs and guiding them down his hips as well. Jaime inhaled sharply when his cock sprang free. Brienne cupped his balls, stroking her thumb over the delicate, almost-hot skin. 

"You have me undressed," he pointed out, unnecessarily, "Do you want to get your new mask out now?"

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Not yet. I just want to look at you for a minute first."

"I'll put my new mask on, too."

"You had one made for you? That was a good idea. But when I said I want to look at you, I meant when I do this –" She teasingly ran a fingertip up the length of his cock. "What's this?" She dabbed her finger in the fluid at the tip, spreading it slowly over the head. He was still watching her, but his hips jerked involuntarily. His smile was slipping. She bowed her head and licked him clean, enjoying the slight tang of salt on his warm skin. She was about to take him deeper when Jaime cleared his throat.

"Brie…ing this to, um, a close," he said haltingly. An odd way to put it, but she stopped and looked up at him. There was a hectic flush across his cheekbones, "I mean, let's put our masks on before we do anything else. I mean, change our masks. And take these off," he grinned, "I seemed to be tongue-tied, my lady, but it's not _my_ tongue that's to blame. What I'm trying to say is, as much as I love what you're doing right now…"

"Hm?"

"The new masks will make everything better. Trust me on this."

"It's only oral sex, ser. Wearing this mask won't matter for a few more minutes."

"And you think the old masks are fine for that sort of thing?" 

"I…yes?"

Jaime dropped to his knees on the floor, "Perhaps I should demonstrate." He pushed her knees wide and buried his face between her legs. She felt his breath on her cunt as he tried to find a good angle. She also felt it when his mask caught on her skirt and tickled her skin. He spread her legs further apart and applied the tip of his tongue to her sensitive skin lightly, avoiding her clit altogether. He sat back up, " _I_  don't think they're so great for oral sex."

Brienne cracked one eye open to look at him. "I hate to argue, but that was…you feel…felt…I was- arg!" she flopped back on the bed and Jaime crawled up beside her.

"So you thought that was good?" Jaime rested his hand between her legs, conveniently still open.

"I didn't think anything could be as intense and perfect as the first time we made love," Brienne said, or hoped that was what she said. She feared she was speaking gibberish. "I don't know, L- Leo, every time you touch me it's perfect. But right now I feel…this is going to sound stupid –" He slid one finger between her folds as she was talking, sending waves of pleasure through her, "You know those lightning things? What are they –" she trailed off, fascinated by his expression.

"Go on." 

"Yes, ser?" Brienne tried to focus on his face without getting distracted by his left dimple.

"You were going to say something stupid." 

"Oh. I don't remember what it was. No – I do! I feel like a plasma ball, all of my nerves rushing to wherever you're touching me." She smiled triumphantly.

"No, that wasn't it." He moved his finger teasingly between her legs, "I think you were about to tell me that you like it when I lick you, and I was saying it could be better. See _, without_  the mask, my tongue would have felt more like this," he moved his finger faster and harder, and in the best place for it. She felt the pleasure filling her, carrying her away –

Jaime's mouth came down on hers and she took his tongue greedily, shuddering against him as he stroked her to a second orgasm and a third, each small and perfect, like pearls on a string. It was a long while before she realized that he'd stopped kissing her.

She felt as boneless as a boiled noodle in his arms. "Sweetling, you always manage to surprise me," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Why? What did I do?"

"I've just never seen you so passionate, and for what?" He crooked his forefinger and looked at it, "You did pretty good, huh?" He made the finger nod, and smirked at Brienne, "I'm almost jealous." He put his finger in his mouth and made a show of sucking it clean. "All I got was a little taste."

"Good thing for you that I'm planning to fuck your brains out all night long." Brienne reached for his cock. "Why aren't you inside of me yet?"

"I've been trying to get us into our new masks," he put his hand over hers, "and then I would be very happy to have you fuck me until my last living brain cell surrenders." 

Brienne kissed his cheek and started to get off the bed. Jaime grabbed one end of her scarf. As she stood up he began to reel it in. "I wondered when you'd get around to that," she said, smoothing down her skirt. One of her stockings had come undone and slipped below her knee in silken folds.

"My apologies for being slow." he pulled the scarf a little more, exposing one breast.  Another length went around his hand and the end of the scarf slid over her shoulder and fell away. Jaime got off the bed, stepping on the end of the scarf wrapped around his hand. He lost his balance and fell head first into Brienne.

She caught him before he hit the carpet, holding him in her arms like the movie poster for Dorne with the Wind. "May I have this dance, Sweetling?" She joked.

"Only if you take your hand off my ass," Jaime said shyly.

"My hand isn't on your ass, dearest."

"Oh. I meant,  _'only_ if you put your hand on my ass.'"

"Like this?"

"That's better. You sure you want to dance? The view here is lovely." Jaime looked at her nipples, making kissy noises up at them.

"Do you have any idea how heavy you are?"

"How could you ask such an insensitive question of someone who's just fallen into a swoon?"

Brienne tried hauling him upright, "It wasn't a swoon. You tripped."

Jaime got his feet under him, "So I did. Good thing you were there to catch me. You'd make a pretty good knight yourself." He stepped away to look at her, hand on chin and his eyes narrowed. "Though your outfit might not be melee-ready."

"It depends on the melee." Brienne walked past him to get her satchel. She felt around for the velvet pouch, her pajamas spilling out as she dug for it.

"What do you have in there?" Jaime asked, coming over to look, "Am I seeing something bright and fuzzy?"

Brienne lifted out the pouch, firmly shoving the blue and pink pants back inside. "It's nothing. Just clothes to wear later."

"For me?" He asked, reaching neatly around her to lift the garment out and hold it up. "Pink bunnies. How did you know that pink bunnies were my favorite?" He rubbed the soft fleece against his cheek.

"They're to wear on the way home. My skirt is too drafty."

"Really?" Jaime handed the pants to her, "You felt pretty warm under it earlier." He reached into her satchel again, "May I?" He fished around in the overstuffed bag, extracting a smaller garment from the rest and crowed in triumph, "You didn't forget your knickers after all!" He spun them around on one finger, "And they're white, which I like. Innocent, but sexy." He leaned closer, steadying himself with a hand on the back of the chair, and leered at her comically.  

Brienne caught the underwear mid-spin and shoved them back in the satchel with her pajama pants, latching it shut, "You weren't even supposed to see those." She held up the velvet bag. "Did you want me to put on one of the masks, or not?"

"Please," Jaime said, walking over to the bed, keeping his back to her. "I'm going to put mine on. Feel free to peek, though."

A tempting offer. What would happen if she did? Would he expect her to let him peek as well? Would that be such a bad thing? Was she so yofied that she no longer had any sense of self-reservation?  

She took off her feathered cat mask and put on one of the new ones. It weighed less than half as much, and the thin leather was molded and stitched to sit smoothly over the bridge of her nose and around her eyes.

"I'm ready when you are," she said, and Jaime turned around. His mask, like hers, did little to hide his face. He looked so like his photos that she could barely breathe.

"You chose the smaller one," he walked up to her. "Thank you for trusting me. You look wonderful."

"Thank  _you_ ," she said, her smile reasserting itself. He was impossibly gorgeous, golden and naked and just mysterious enough to make her shiver in anticipation. His other mask had been a thing of fine artisanship, all wet-molded leather and clever detail, but she wasn't sorry to see it go. "Both masks that you sent were so lovely. The one with the cat tail curving down to cover my scar was also gorgeous. Did you design them?"

"If you can call it that. I described what I wanted, but the crafters took it from there." He rubbed his thumb lightly over her scar and even the usually numb flesh felt alive to his touch, a part of her for once rather than the malevolent reminder of all she'd lost. "I like the way they worked the sapphires in." Jaime laced his fingers into her hair, "I think your hair has grown some, since we met."

Her heart was hammering, "I suppose it might have. I used to wear it long."

"I'd like to have seen it like that," His eyes were heavy lidded and a touch glassy. "For now, though, I need to examine this naughty outfit of yours. Let's go to bed."

"Leo –" she had to come up with something else to call him, "at least let me fix my stocking first."

"Go right ahead, sweetling," he sat down on the bed. "I'll watch."

"Silly," she muttered, bending to pull the stocking up and re-attach the strap. Her fingers were clumsy, and the increasingly aggressive clip kept nipping them. The more she struggled with it, the more aware she was of time passing. She wobbled on one leg, barely keeping a toehold with the other.

Her camisole was gaping, too. If the transparent fabric weren't enough of a mating call, her little dinners were hanging bare for all to see. Where did  _that_  come from? Brienne straightened up, almost looking around for her old septa. Instead, she found Jaime, lying across the bed all sweet and fuckable.  _Screw the septa – she never met **this**  man._

"Why'd you stop?" he asked.

"I got it attached."

"Only the front, wench." Jaime rose from the bed, lion sleek and graceful as he stalked counter-clockwise around her. On the first pass, he swept his fingers beneath her skirt, snagging the strap dangling over her right butt cheek before stopping in front of her. He reached around her with his other arm, bending his knees as he searched for the hem of the drooping stocking.

He needed to search for a while, as his hand kept roaming ridiculously out of range – why would the top of her stocking be way up where her bottom met her thigh? It certainly wasn't between her legs either. His deliberate fumbling was making her laugh.

When Jaime found the stocking top and straightened, Brienne decided to take matters – and his cock – into hand. She guided it beneath her skirt, and Jaime laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I thought of that already," Jaime told her, "But unless you can levitate I don't think what you want is anatomically possible."

He was right, damn him. They could make out, stroke each other to climax, or just sway here like a couple of Yo-Da heads in love, but there was no way to make love without them both falling over.

Brienne began to laugh as well, "Do you think the Yo-Da flier said anything about this?"

"Under the heading 'What to do if you forget how to fuck'?"

"Maybe." She released him, "Are you going to fix that stocking or not?"

"You almost made me forget," Jaime said, crouching again.

Brienne smiled when he cursed the clip's vicious nature and let it snap back up under her skirt. Recovering quickly, he caught it again and joined it with the stocking. Then he unzipped her skirt and guided it down her legs, setting it aside as she stepped out of it.

He backed away until he was standing in front of the bed with a shy smile on his face, the crooked one, where only his a few teeth showed…it always made her giddy. She took a step toward him.

Jaime motioned for her to stop, "Wait. I just want to look at you for a minute."

She stepped back and squared her shoulders. No, that wasn't very sexy, was it? She bent one knee, trying to glance down at her legs without being obvious. Well, not as obvious as Jaime was being, anyway. She shifted her balance and watched his reaction.  _Did his cock actually just twitch?_

Her confidence rising, she canted one hip a bit more and put her hands on her hips. No, that was too septa-like, and did nothing to show off her breasts under the sheer shirt. She moved both hands up to the shallow curve of her waist.  _Do other women's elbows stick out like this? I probably look like I'm about to engage in a chicken dance._ She dropped one hand to rest on her forward leg and glanced quickly back at Jaime. He was no longer focused on her legs. Nor was he admiring the garter or the darker circles of her nipples beneath the black camisole.

He was watching her face, clearly trying not to smile. It must have amused him, to see her trying out different poses. Brienne braced for a rush of embarrassment. It didn't come. There was no mockery in his face. There never was. Without the ornate lion mask, his eyes were clear and unguarded, one side of his mouth hitching up as she shrugged.

She should have been a mess of uncertainty about her Paramour between Margaery's dislike, the lurid headlines, Tyrion's obvious admiration, and the man she'd come to know. The mysterious and unreal aspects of Leo had vanished. In fact,  _Leo_  had vanished. In his place was someone real. Someone who loved her. Someone she loved. 

"Come here, wench." Jaime stood and held his hand out, to lift hers for a kiss. The warmth of his lips and the soft, bristly touch of his beard on her knuckles spread through her like lazy ripples on a pond. If not for the gentle pressure of his fingers holding hers, Brienne fancied she'd just float away.

With a courtly sweep of his arm, Jaime showed her to the bed.  _I definitely need to see this man in a sword belt..._ Brienne did a half-circle pirouette, falling onto the bed with a loud  _whoof_. She batted her eyelashes coquettishly, "Won't you join me?"

Jaime made a clumsy half-twirl and dropped down beside her, already laughing, "My lady, I do believe you’re flirting with me."

"I thought I was being subtle," Brienne laughed. "What was your first clue? Was it the being all naked?"

"That was a bit of a giveaway," he admitted, "though technically you're still mostly covered. I, on the other hand, am not wearing a stitch."

"Hm, I hadn't noticed." Brienne looked down and arched an eyebrow, "Hello there. Is this for me?"

"Of course it is. About time you noticed."

"Well, I'm a little slow, sometimes." She smirked, "Other times, not so much. If I told you that you have a beautiful cock, would you hold it against me?"

"Like this?"

"Hm. That's some first class flirting, ser."

"I aim to please."

"Oh, do you ever." she laid her head on her outstretched arm and sighed, "You make me so happy."

Jaime kissed her lightly, "You're so light right now. I love seeing you like this."

"Grinning like a mooncow, you mean?"

"Isn't it 'mooncalf'?"

"Grown-up mooncalf. Mooncow."

"Mooncow. Nope. Afraid you'll always be 'wench' to me."

"I can live with that."

"Good," he kissed her. And continued kissing her as they tangled together, Brienne on top, then Jaime, then Brienne again, petting and grinding like a couple of desperate teenagers until Jaime stopped, panting, "Can I take your top off?"

His brow and hairline were damp, as were Brienne's. The close-fitting masks, though far better than their old ones, admitted little cooling air, and their tussling had been vigorous. She nodded, sitting back on Jaime's thighs as she pulled the camisole over her head.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, slowly stroking it, "Gods…you're so fucking sexy. Touch yourself. Please."

No need to ask her twice. Brienne rolled one nipple between her fingers and excitement spiked through her as his grip tightened. She stroked herself with the other hand and watched as he did the same.

He'd told her many times and in many ways that she was a sexy woman. Tonight, she  _owned_  it for the first time. Rising up from her knees, she pinned Jaime's wrists above his head.

"Okay, now I  _know_  you're flirting," he said, raising his hips as she lowered hers.

Brienne was swept up in a rush of euphoria and emotion as he entered her, and it seemed an unusually long time before she was up to opening her eyes and breathing again. Jaime's wrists were still beneath her hand, though his arms and shoulders had gone slack. His mouth hung open in surprise or ecstasy. "Quite," Brienne said, as soon as she'd recovered her power of speech.

Jaime chuckled and opened his eyes, " _That_  was amazing."

Brienne nodded in agreement, "So, did you want to tell me about your terrible week?"

"Do you really think this is the time?"

"Well, we could stop."

"Are you nuts?  _No_. It's not very romantic though, talking about my troubles as you fuck me silly."

Brienne grinned and rolled her hips, "Seems like the perfect antidote to me."

He groaned. "You know, my troubles aren't all that interesting, to speak of."

"Start at the beginning, and I'll be the judge of that."

"Aren't you afraid I'll be risking my anonymity?"

"I'll take my chances. What was your first clue that it would be a bad week?"

"That would be…" he frowned, "Probably Saturday, when I was working on my car. I managed to cut my hand  _and_  puncture the coolant tank on my car."

Brienne looked at the bandage on his hand, queasy at the idea of his being hurt. "I wouldn't have thought you the clumsy type."

"I'm not, normally, but I guess I was still drunk."

" _Still_  drunk?"

"Mmm,"

"Still drunk from Friday night? Had you gone out somewhere?"

"No." He thought about it, "I was just… I'd just been drinking earlier."

"How early?" He was right, it was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, and she had the feeling she should.

"Friday morning? Does it count as being continuously drunk if I slept in between?"

"Did you start drinking on Thursday night?" Brienne was taken aback. The night she'd cried in his arms? The night he'd said I love you?  _Oh, Jaime_. She stopped what she'd been doing and lay down next to him.

He groaned in disappointment, but turned to face her. "I had a drink when I got home. Maybe two," he admitted. "And then on Friday, I didn’t feel well and stayed home drinking and watching old movies. Have you ever seen the Maltese Raven?"

"No. Is it good?"

"Y'know, I'm not sure."

"So you were drinking Thursday and Friday, and on Saturday – were you drinking then, too?"

"Just some beer, to chase away the hangover."

_Just like Tyrion_. "Well, I'm sure that helped. So you got a boo-boo and then what? Had a doctor flown in to see to it?" She took his hand in hers.

"No. I didn't have a doctor flown in to see it." Jaime huffed but didn't take his hand back, "I let it fester first, and then took myself to the doctor."

Brienne unbound the dressing and sucked in a breath at the cut, though it was healing well. "You do realize that you have to sterilize wounds so they don't get infected?"

"I rinsed it," Jaime said defensively.

"What with?" she lightly touched the stitches.

"Whisky," he said, sheepish but proud.

Brienne rolled her eyes, "How very manly of you."

Jaime moved closer, his cock hard against her, "Manly enough for you."

Brienne laughed, reaching down to stroke him, "I'd have insisted you clean the cut properly, had I been there."

"Had you been there, I wouldn't have gotten drunk in the first place."

"I know," She whispered, "I'm sorry."

Surprise flickered in his eyes, "It's not your fault, wench, but thank you." He blinked away a threatening tear and managed a weak smile.

_It was my fault. If I hadn't been too scared to tell you how I felt -_  "How did Monday go?" She asked at last.

"Monday wasn't too bad. Busy. Tuesday, though..."

"Tell me about it," she urged him.

"Tuesday was good and bad. I had a breakthrough on some research I was doing in the morning, and Olyvar came by with your gift in the afternoon."

_Not much of a gift, compared to his._  "Good so far. When did the day go downhill?"

"After work, I had a bit of a scuffle with an employee in the parking garage."

"Oh no! Who started it?"

"He threw the first punch, though he claims that I provoked him. Now he's threatened a lawsuit."

"Huh. Did you provoke him?"

"Of course I did. He deserved it." Brienne laughed, and then Jaime did too, "Actually, hitting him counts as one of the good parts of the day."

"What if he does sue?"

Jaime shrugged, smiling, "Worth it."

Tyrion had mentioned his big brother having something of a temper when he was younger. Brienne hoped Jaime didn't have a habit of assaulting people. "That doesn't sound like such a bad day then. Did something else happen after that?"

"Are you  _sure_  you want to hear about this?"

"Yes."  _Maybe._  Hopefully he didn't kill anyone. "What happened?"

Jaime held her tighter, his heartbeat racing beneath her palm. "I dreamed of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, and especially to those who comment and leave kudos on this and previous chapters. I think the end is in sight, maybe another handful of chapters. The next one, of course, is a continuation of club night. 
> 
> Last month I started a new tumblr blog for Bound Together where I post updates and answer questions. Check it out: [Leo and Sapphire](https://leoandsapphire.tumblr.com/) Questions or speculation about the story going forward are quite welcome.


	27. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the latter half of Club Sand's fifth session, and things are going pretty well for the paramours. Can they stay that way after Jaime gets huffy over dream-fellatio? Will Brienne call him out for having Hodor envy? Dive in and see.
> 
> I made a few edits and added some to the first bit of the previous chapter, so it might be worth a reread, though it isn't necessary to do so. 
> 
> The song referenced in this chapter is **When You Break** by Bear's Den. You can listen to it [here](https://youtu.be/xE4luE9qKUI) before or after reading the chapter.

"You dreamed of me," Sapphire grinned, waiting for the punchline. When Jaime didn't answer, her smile faltered, "Did you dream about my accident? I'm sorry if –"

"It wasn't about your accident." Jaime _had_ dreamed of the wreck, more than once. He'd played the hero then, coming upon her in the grey mist and leading her to safety; nothing like the grim reality of it. "Do you still dream of it?"

"Sometimes, but I don't want to talk about that now. I want to hear about your dream." Brienne frowned, "I imagine it wasn't very sexy, if it was a nightmare."

"It…was sexual. 'Sexy' is open for debate." He shouldn't have mentioned the damned thing. Since waking up the morning before, damp with his own cum and shaking with reaction, Jaime had felt insecure, ashamed, and, worst of all, aroused. Arriving at the club only to find Bearfucker propositioning Sapphire in the ballroom had added a sort of sick rage to his already confused emotions.  

"Sexual, huh? Well, that sounds…intriguing." Her smile was back, but there was wariness in it. Her eyes flitted downwards, as though looking for a second opinion. 

To Jaime's chagrin, his cock responded with dizzying speed. "I'm not sure 'intriguing' is the word I'd use, sweetling." He waved his hand dismissively, "I've already forgotten most of it, anyway. Why don't we explore that basket of goodies they've left us on the sideboard?  I bet there's _chocolate_."

"Oh no, you don't. You've made me curious," She swept long fingers tantalizingly along the length of him, all the while gazing at him with those sky-blue eyes, lovelier than ever without the old mask's shadow, "Tell me, and I'll make it worth your while."

Would she still look at him like this after he'd told her what he'd let Bearfucker do to her? _Maybe if I leave out the part where I let_ – Sapphire kissed his neck, her fine, soft hair brushing his jaw and catching in the coarser hair of his beard. She followed the line of his neck with her lips, until she'd reached his ear, there to whisper, " _Tell me._ "

"I'd rather fuck than talk," he rasped, tilting her chin up and crushing his mouth to hers. Brienne's lips parted under the force of his tongue and he kissed her breathless, pushing her legs apart roughly to slide two fingers into her cunt, wet and swollen and gods, _so ready._

She whimpered and squirmed, only breaking their kiss to watch as he slowly withdrew until just the tips of his fingers were still hidden. He relaxed his arm, letting it lie heavily across her belly. For a while he did no more, watching as the wench's expression turned from desire to indignation. 

"Tease!" She grasped his forearm and raised her hips. 

"This," Jaime demanded, pressing into her again, "you want _this,_ wench?" He crooked his fingers just inside her cunt, feeling it tighten around them. Her grip shifted, one hand clinging to his bicep and the other rising to one plump nipple, her eyes drifting closed as she pulled at it. The pale pink bud swelled and darkened between her fingertips as he watched.

Jaime lowered his head, drawing the other nipple and areola into his mouth, his teeth grazing puckered flesh as her back arched, the small pleading sounds she made urging him on. Dizzy with lust, painfully hard and barely capable of thought, he thrust his fingers in hard enough to make her grunt and dig her fingernails into the shifting muscles of his arm. 

He reveled in the sight of her strong, solid body, sheened with perspiration from the smooth muscles of her thighs to the sweetly vulnerable swell of mound and belly, between her breasts and in the hollow of her throat. Brienne's mouth opened in a nearly perfect **_O_** , but for the tiny hitch caused by the scar on her right cheek.

Sometimes Jaime felt he'd been waiting all his life for this, for her - the one woman who could make him whole and happy. He was scared though; frightened she'd never be his, now he'd found her. Worried he'd drive her away with his unrelenting need to possess her. The nearer he seemed to come to making _them_ a reality, the more he panicked that it would never happen.  

The refrain to a song he'd heard while stuck in traffic earlier, desperately impatient to get to Brienne, ran through his head, pulsing through his veins until his heart beat with the words:

_I want to fuck away all my fear_

_I want to fuck away all my fear_

_Tell me everything I want to hear_

_Won't you lay here by my side_

_I want to fuck away all my fear_

"Please, gods, Leo –" The wench let go of his bicep, reaching blindly for his shoulders, his hair, anything to bring him closer, "I need you to – I want you inside of me –" 

Jaime scrambled over her, hooking her legs over his shoulders, and she reached down blindly to guide him in, the heat of her like wildfire licking over hot steel, a blaze hot enough to melt and forge them anew.

_I want to fuck_

_away_

_all my_

_fear_

_I want to fuck…_

Her eyelids were heavy over eyes dark with passion, unmistakably watching him. Love? Lust? Both? Her lips formed a single word: _Please_. Jaime leaned forward and her long, long legs bent as he lowered his head to her breast and swirled his tongue over one rosy peak.

"Hard, love. _Hard_ ," she gasped impatiently, burying her hands in Jaime's hair, tugging hard as she began to flicker and tighten around his cock, her body coaxing his to its release. He took as much of her tit into his mouth as he could, sucking hard.

"Leo…" she seemed to hesitate, and then rushed on, "Stay with me. _In_ me. Just for –" He bit one nipple, then moved to the other, pinching it between his teeth. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging painfully at the roots, "Harder. _Now_ ," she gasped.

Jaime bit down, afraid he'd draw blood, yet unbearably turned on by the way she cried out, her body convulsing. He was in her to the hilt, trying not to move as she pulsed around him like liquid fire. Their joining was like a vortex of heat and desire consuming him - and then she was pushing his head away, no longer able to bear his teeth on her skin. 

He'd saw he'd left angry red bite marks on her nipple, and knew the sight oughtn't arouse him as much as it did.  Brienne had subsided beneath him, wearing the smile, were he a boasting man, of a woman well fucked. Jaime pulled out slowly, biting his lip on a grin and raising his eyebrows at her. She managed a breathless laugh and nodded. 

Released from the torment of stillness, Jaime bucked into her, feeling desperately, gloriously out of control, the sound of their skin slapping together and her small, perfect tits jouncing with each thrust driving him on. Brienne inhaled sharply, her teeth gnashing together, and Jaime faltered for fear he'd gone too far. But no, he _knew_ her body. With a mighty roar, he slammed into her once more and went with her, both of them grunting like animals until Jaime collapsed on top of her, his chest and thighs slick with their sweat.

Sated, he lay unmoving, panting into Brienne’s neck as she stroked his back.  _I must move, I'm too heavy_ … As a young man, Jaime had learnt not to linger, lest he be unceremoniously pushed away. Even a hard, satisfying fuck with his once-beloved cousin had never merited the closeness he craved. 

Rising up on his trembling arms, Jaime peeled his sweaty chest from Brienne’s, and smiled down at her. "So, does Dothraki Thunder Fuck get some of the credit for that, or was it just us?"

"That was all us, lover, but I can't deny the Yo-Da added a little something."

"You like it for sex, then?"

"I think it's a good thing I didn't know how well they went together when I was younger," Brienne said, reaching up to caress Jaime's damp hair, "Else I might have been tempted into promiscuity."

"I don't believe you," Jaime chuckled, backing off of her.

She stilled him with a hand on his shoulder, "Wait – would you mind if we stayed this way? Just for a while longer?"

With a grateful sigh, Jaime let his body relax. He'd forgotten, in his lonely and motherless youth, what it felt like to be held and cradled by someone strong and loving. Cersei had been soft and feminine, delicate and sharp and needy – often all at the same time. It had been Jaime's place, always, to provide the shelter of his body when and if she wanted it, having gotten of her the sexual release he craved. If he wanted more, he knew better than to speak of it.

Brienne was different; her body as large as his, her arms around him a haven he'd never known to hope for. Jaime wondered if she'd come to feel as safe with him, if his embrace was a panacea for the hurts and slights the world had dealt her, a home and hearth to protect her from the world. 

A light snore vibrated under his cheek, and Jaime raised his head. Brienne was asleep with her mouth open. Jaime smiled and rolled off to the side, trying not to wake her as he got to his feet. He walked into the bathroom and straight to the toilet, remembered the door at the last second and pivoted to go back and close it. 

 He _should_ close it, he knew that. Jaime peeked out the doorway to see if Brienne was still asleep. She was. He smiled to himself as he returned to the urinal, leaving the door open. What was it Tyrion had said about relationships? _You know it's serious when you don't bother to close the bathroom door, but you **do** put the seat back down_. Jaime pissed long and loud in the toilet, feeling only slightly self-conscious, and made sure to close the lid. 

While washing his hands in the sink, he reflected on Tyrion's second criteria for gauging the seriousness of relationships, deciding it might be best saved for some other time; Brienne might not appreciate him ripping a good one whilst flinging himself on the bed. Best to let her cut the first fart, then.

Jaime took one of the thick hand towels from a chrome rack and held it under the running water, using it to swipe the worst of the sweat from his skin. He took off his mask and splashed water over his face, half hoping that Brienne would walk in through the open door and see him. 

Of course, she did not. When he left the bathroom, he saw that Brienne had curled onto her side, her cheek resting on her folded hands, watching for him to come out. Her garter belt was askew, one stocking detached and drooping around her ankle, the other twisted, its seam as meandering as a country road bisecting her leg. 

"Hey, sleepy head," Jaime held up the warm, damp hand towel, "are you as sticky as I was?"

"Probably," she said lazily, stretching like a cat. Jaime sat down and she held her hand out for the towel.

He shook his head and held the rapidly cooling cloth out of reach, "Please, allow me."

 With an exaggerated sigh, Brienne lay back and opened her legs for him. Always appreciative of female anatomy and still quite yofied, Jaime found the sight mesmerizing. Where was the self-conscious modesty he'd grown used to? Was it the Yo-Da or had he'd finally earned this new level of trust? 

After giving him time to look his fill, the wench grinned.  "You know what would be fun sometime? A bath."

"Maybe next week?" Jaime mused, lowering the towel to wipe the inside of one thigh. 

Brienne flinched. "That's _cold_." 

"It's tepid," Jaime corrected her. "You can get under the covers after I've finished you off." Brienne looked at him, wide-eyed, "It would need to be _huge_." Jaime glanced quickly down at his flaccid cock and Brienne laughed, "The bathtub, you git."

"Well, thank the gods for that. I'm no Hodor and not like to add an extra inch at this age." He wiped gently between her legs and tossed the towel toward the bathroom. "Do you want a bottle of water?"

"Yes, please. I must use the loo first, though. Not that you didn't do a _fine_ job cleaning me up…" She kissed him before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

 _Oh, well_. Jaime took four small bottles of water from the fridge and set them next to the bed. He was beneath the sheets and duvet when she emerged, her hair damp where she'd removed her mask to splash water on her face. _See, if you'd left the door open_ …

She clambered in next to him, snuggling into his arms with a huff of contentment. "I want to hear about your dream." 

Jaime ran his hand over her flank, "Mm, you took the rest of your clothes off."

"Don't change the subject."

"You know, much as I love the sexy things you wear, I think I like you entirely naked the best."

"The dream."

"Of course, you're not _entirely_ naked. There's still the question of your mask –"

"You're stalling."

"I suppose I am, my lady. I know I should just be grateful that you chose the smaller mask for tonight," Jaime kissed the top of her head. "But I'm a selfish being, wench. I want to see all of you. I want you to see _me_."

"I do see you," she whispered without looking up at him. 

Jaime swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, "You only see me here, wench. You might not like the person I am when I'm not with you." The words weighed heavily on him; she might not like the person the world was certain he was, and if this new scandal Tyrion had warned him about should make the tabloids…? 

Brienne was silent for a long time. "Leo," she said at last, "who you are when we're apart doesn't matter to me."

"I know, because you never want to meet _him_ ," Jaime tried not to sound petulant, but he wasn't fooling either of them. 

"I didn't say that," Brienne said warily, extricating herself to sit up facing him. 

Jaime reached for her, "I'm sorry, sweetling. I really don't want to ruin our evening with this. Lie back down and I'll tell you about my dream."

She didn't move. "Take off your mask."

"Take off my – you're not serious." 

"I am." She was glaring at him, her jaw thrust forward stubbornly. Jaime shook his head, and was astonished to see angry tears welling up in her eyes. 

"Sweetling," he tried to take her hand, but she crossed her arms and shook her head. He threw back the bed covers and sat up as well. "Wench. Come here," he held out his arms, "I'm so sorry. I never know when to shut the fuck up. We can be happy with what we have right now, can't we?" 

"You don't have to take your mask off, _Leo_." Her tone was a baffling mix of hurt and scorn.

"Sapphire, what is this about? If you want me to take it off, I will. Happily. Just be careful what you wish for, eh?" Jaime held out his hand again. With a stifled sob, Brienne took it and he pulled her against his chest, "Shhh, it's okay."

He rocked her for a while, just stroking her hair and counting the freckles on her shoulders.

"You can take off _my_ mask," she mumbled into his neck.

"I- what?"

"Unless you don't want to," she amended, sniffling. 

"You know that I'd never insist. You don't have to –"

"I'm _offering_ , damn it." She pulled away and looked at him defiantly, "But only if we both take them off. And only if you find me a tissue first. My nose is running."

Without looking away from her Jaime reached over to the bedside table, pulling a tissue from a black porcelain container and handing it to her. She dabbed at her tears and wiped her nose, then held the damp paper gingerly as she glanced around for a place to dispose of it.

"Here," Jaime put it on the table. "Whose mask should come off first?"

"Yours." Before he could blink, Brienne had it off him and was setting it aside. 

After the tearful build-up, Jaime was expecting some expression of wonderment, perhaps guilt, even regret. Brienne slowly let out the breath she'd been holding and smiled at him, her eyes brightening, "Oh good, it's only _you_."

Jaime laughed, "Only me." _Do you like what you see? Do I look very different than you expected? Does this mean something's changed between us? Has everything changed?_ "You, now?" He asked.

Brienne's answer was to lean in, raising her chin bravely. Her eyes never left Jaime's face as he removed the mask, not missing the quickly stifled flash of fear before she managed to give him a half smile. He would have given a lot to know Brienne's feelings in that instant, but he was too busy tripping over his own. 

Jaime already knew her face. He'd seen it in photos, and a week ago, he'd seen it lit by no more than tiny fairly lights. Earlier tonight, he'd seen her scar exposed to the light, though even that had somehow seemed familiar. 

 Yet looking at her now, everything seemed changed.  

It was fantasy made real, the two of them just _looking_ at each other. _It's only you_ , she'd said to him. Could it be just that simple? It didn't feel like it. _It's you and it's me, and it's **us**_. It was like a vow, unexpectedly offered. By her. By Brienne. 

He raised his hand to cup her unblemished cheek, and she nuzzled into it like a cat, her eyes closed, before pulling back to smile at him. Where the mask had been her skin was faintly flushed, and there were freckles dusting the bridge of her nose he'd not yet kissed. There wasn't light enough in the room for this moment; he wanted to see her face and body adorned by sunlight. 

His humble wish to see her after a session, sitting across from him in the booth of some diner sipping coffee and making awkward small talk, seemed now too frugal a goal. He should settle for nothing less than leaving this infernal club for the last time, to walk hand in hand into their shared future. 

Except for one little thing: he was Jaime Lannister. Once she found that out, how could he hide from what the world insisted he was? And what if her friend had recognized him? 

He and Margaery Tyrell had avoided each other for years after that wretched pool party, though Loras had soon gotten over his rejection and was as flirtatious as ever.  It had been there that Jaime first saw the young woman's tattoo, on proud display as she'd cavorted in a miniscule two-piece bathing suit. 

When Dog had lifted her to the sex swing, parting her legs for the straps, Jaime had recognized it, and subsequently Margaery, with an unpleasant jolt. The tattoo, a slender green vine complete with thorns, climbed up an inner thigh to her quite hairless mons, where it ended in a single golden rose. Though he'd never seen _that_ portion of the ink before, its meaning was clear.

 Jaime felt he'd rather eat a thistle than taste of that particular flower. 

The Tyrell girl was attractive enough he supposed, though too young and too bold for his tastes, even had she not been the sort of socialite he normally detested. Brienne's assumption that he'd wanted to leave the demo  to avoid seeing Dog's Hodor again had been only partly right; neither of them had any desire to watch as Look-at-Me-Margaery got fucked four ways to Friday.

The woman could prove a serious complication. She'd already warned him once to be careful of Brienne's feelings, perhaps she'd known who he was even then. Between that and Tyrion's cryptic news that the Lannisters were about to be engulfed in some new scandal, his path to making a future with Brienne had just gotten more complicated. 

"What are you thinking about?" Brienne asked.

"You." Jaime forced a grin.

"Of course you were. I meant specifically." She reached out and touched the small mole to the left of his nose, apparently delighted by the new discovery.

"I was thinking about saying 'I love you' again," Jaime lifted her hand and kissed it, "because I do. I promised I'd tell you about my dream, and so I shall."  

"Oh," she hesitated, "I…yes, let's do that. The dream."  She sounded less enthusiastic  than Jaime expected. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned love again. He got back under the covers with her. 

"All settled? Good." They were facing one another, toes touching beneath the sheets, "Should I get snacks? There were some treats on the bureau."

"Stalling. Tell me about your horrible dream, Leo."

"Okay, but you've been warned." Jaime cleared his throat, "It was a club night, and we were just going to our room -"

"More detail, dear," Brienne interrupted, "What was I wearing?"

"Huh?"

"Which outfit was I wearing? Something you've seen me in before?"

"I don't remember. Something sexy," Jaime looked at her expectantly.

She sighed. "Vague, but go on."

"We walked down a long hallway to our room, and went inside. There was some kind of narrow exam table right in the middle, the only furniture in the whole room." 

"Huh. Were there electrodes and things attached to it?"

"Electrodes?"

"Like you'd see in a good monster movie. Brains in jars, ravens on perches, that sort of thing."

"No."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "Go on, then."

Jaime closed his eyes, trying to call up the scene. "I told you to take off your dress, and then to undress me."

"Mm. Sounds good so far. What were you wearing?" 

"Uh, that's not really relevant."

"Oh, was it embarrassing? I'll give you a kiss if you tell me." 

"It was a leather harness, alright?"

"Describe it."

"Well, it kind of crossed over my chest," Jaime drew invisible lines over his ribs and then down his belly, "and it had a cock ring. Where's my kiss?"

"I'll bet you looked hot."

"I wouldn't know."

"I'd like to see you in a cock ring," 

"You would? Why?"

"Call it academic curiosity." She smiled, fishing around beneath the covers for something, "Did you like how it felt?"

"I don't recall." Jaime grunted as she circled the base of his cock tightly with her forefinger and thumb, "I might have." 

"Were you hard? Was it tight? Did it have spikes? Did it go around your balls, too?" She said teasingly, squeezing him a bit, "A girl needs to know."

"Of course I was hard. I was with you," Jaime closed his eyes as the heat of her touch spread delightfully from bits to belly. 

"Good answer," she moved her hand lower, "And your balls?" Brienne gave him a wicked grin.

"Not hard, but I think they were uh…strapped." Was she intentionallydistracting him? "Wench, if you want answers you're going to have to let some of my blood supply stay in my head."

"Sorry." She let go and showed him her empty hand. "I'll try to restrain myself for now. Please proceed."

"Where was I? Ah, yes. After I was naked, you got down on your knees to blow me. I made you stop." Jaime chuckled. _Talk about unrealistic scenarios_.

"Why is it that in every man's fantasy, the first thing a woman does is go down on him?"

"I think there's precedent for it, in our case."

"You have a point. And an especially yummy cock." Brienne's expression turned thoughtful, "Why did you ask me to stop, in the dream?" 

"I didn't ask; I told you to get up, and then I made you to take off your mask so that I could blindfold you." 

"Ooh, getting your Dom on, huh? Sounds sexy so far."

"It was. You asked me what I'd planned for the night, and I told you not to question your 'master.'"

"My 'master'?" She laughed, as he'd known she would.

"It sounded less ridiculous in the dream. You got on the table, and I strapped your arms to some kind of bars. I had to remind you who was in charge when you got cheeky about it. Then I got rid of your underwear and put your feet up in these stirrup things –"

"Like on a gynecologist's table? Were we playing doctor?"

"No." he said shortly.

"How do you even know about those tables? They don't have arm restraints that I know of, but otherwise it sounds like speculum-city."

"I don't even know what a 'speculum' is, and I don't think I want to. I can't speak for what my subconscious invents, wench. Anyway, the bottom bars were hinged, and I swung them out so that your legs were wide open."

"Yup, that sounds like a pelvic exam. Did I miss the part of the check-up where I provide a urine sample in a plastic cup?" Jaime glared at her, and she laughed, "Sorry. How did I feel about all this? "

"Well enough, I suppose. I could smell that you were excited by it."

"You have smell-o-vision in your dreams?"

"Do you want me to go on, or not?" 

"Please, go on. Master."

"The dream gets weird from here on out. Weirder, I should say." He leaned in and kissed her, taking his time, only pulling away when both were short of breath. "My lady, yours are the sexiest, most expressive eyes I've ever seen, and right now they're saying 'let's have mind-bending sex again.' Wouldn't you rather do that than hear what else happened?"

"But hearing about your dream is only making me more ready."

"I think you mean the kissing is," Jaime tried to recapture Brienne's full lips, but she pulled away. 

"You can't stop now. I might let you have your way with me afterwards, if I'm satisfied with the telling."

"You won't be, after you hear the next thing."

"Uh oh. What happened next, Master?"

"Wench –" 

Brienne furrowed her brow, "You do look nervous. The dream didn't turn into some crazy sadism thing, did it? I don't think I'd want to hear anything like that."

"No! No sadism. Well, not _much_ ," Jaime amended, "after you were tied and blindfolded, I opened the door and let Bearfucker into our room."

"Honestly, I'm not sure if I should laugh or cry. Bearfucker! Was he delivering a pizza?"

"Only if naked delivery becomes a thing."

"He was _naked_?"

"He was wearing a harness."

"Just like yours?"

"I don't know. Is it relevant?"

"Dream symbolism?"

"Do you want me to go on, or should I call the concierge for a book on the subject?"

"Tetchy, aren't we? I'm sorry. You let Bearfucker in, and he's – did he have a cock ring too?"

She seemed a bit hooked on this cock ring idea. "Yes." 

"I think I can guess what happened next." Brienne put her hand on his cheek and looked compassionately into his eyes, "It's nothing to worry about, you know. It's not considered abnormal for a straight man to have a homosexual dream occasionally. Though I wouldn't have expected you to choose Bear -"

"Wench –"

"And he is kind of…manly, after all. Not in a particularly appealing way, it's true, but to each their own," she laughed, "I guess he really would be considered a 'bear.'"  

"He wasn't there to fuck _me_ , Sapphire."

She shuddered, "Ew."

"Told you it was a nightmare. But I didn't let him fuck you, either. He went to stand by your head and I asked you if you trusted me, and if you remembered your safe word. You said yes to both, so I went down on my knees and he started playing with your tits."

"Oh."

"Even in the dream, it felt wrong, what I was allowing him to do, but I went ahead, licking your clit and  finger-fucking you while he unhooked your bra…" Jaime paused, bile rising in his throat.

_"And?"_

"He was rough with you, and you cried out a little from the pain. But the way you were writhing on that table, moaning and wanting more, was so erotic that I couldn't stop any of it. My cock ached with wanting you." Jaime closed his eyes, the scene he'd described still overwhelming.  "You came like that, with both of us touching you."

Brienne bit her lip, blushing, "And then?"

"After your climax, Bearfucker was still playing with your nipples. I know how sensitive you are once you've come, and I desperately wanted to make him leave you alone."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I wanted so badly to be inside you. I needed to prove that you were mine. To all three of us, I suppose. I began fucking you in front of him. I don't think I'd have been able to stop were a sword leveled at my heart. I was saying, 'mine, mine, mine,' just like those stupid seagulls in that fish movie…"

"Maybe it's the Yo-Da talking, but I –" she stopped, embarrassed.

"You what?"

"I don't like Bearfucker, and I wouldn't want him to touch me. Ever. But picturing you claiming me like that in front of another man…it's just…" She trailed off.

"I told you it was bad. Disgusting, isn't it?"

"I was about to say it's arousing."

"It is?" Jaime looked at her in surprise. He'd need to explore this revelation, but not until after she'd heard the whole story. She might not find it so appealing then.  "It gets worse, wench. He put his dick to your mouth and you took it -"

"Yuck. How could I, if I was strapped down?"

"You managed. Bearfucker started thrusting and grunting, and then held your head to his crotch until you swallowed."

Brienne was incredulous. "Gods. And you didn't stop him?" 

"It was…in the dream you weren't upset." Jaime felt all of the helpless rage descend on him just as it had in the dream, "You were sucking his dick like it was no big deal." 

"Gross. Are you sure dream-me wanted to?"

"Dream-me thought so." Jaime found it difficult to keep his voice level, "I wanted to make him stop, but you seemed so into it. All I could do was fuck you harder, still trying to prove something."

"Has there ever been any question of that?" Brienne said tartly.

"In the dream there was," Jaime's chest ached with the phantom memory. 

"I'm sorry for what dream-me did, but you know I'd never  –"

"What about Stormcrow?" Jaime couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice.

"Stormcrow?"

"The man you went down on, the first night we met."

"Oh, was that his name?" Brienne narrowed her eyes, "My memory may be foggy, but I seem to remember you sporting a pretty big bulge watching me do it, too."

"That's not the damn point! Of course I was aroused – this sexy woman I've just met, and will hopefully get to fuck at some point, sucks cock in front of everyone?" Jaime squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on, "Yes, I was excited! I had no idea I would fall in love with you –"

"No – Nor did I! You've no business getting upset over something that happened the night we met." Her face was flaming with indignation, "I'd never done such a thing before. Nor have I since, unless you count that stairwell video, which has probably had the larger audience since. Are you going to shame me for that, too?" 

"No," Jaime said quietly, his throat closing up on him. What had he expected, an apology? Certainly not to have her vigorously defend herself and call him out for his insecurities to boot. "I just thought that when you said you wanted to be monogamous…that you meant it." 

"Leo. I'm still pretty high, and I'm just going to assume that you are as well. Dream fellatio isn't something you can blame someone else for. As for Stormcrow, I did that to show off. Have you considered that being able to make the most appealing man in the room hard might have gone a long way for my confidence?" 

"He was already hard." 

"Yes, you were," Brienne said coldly and sat up, facing him.

"Oh." 

"And by the way, _Leo_ , I've never swallowed for anyone but you. Gods, I wasn't mad at your silly dream before, but I must say that you're behaving very poorly," Brienne glared down at him. "You dreamed Bearfucker's dick into my mouth, made me swallow his salmon-scented cum, and now you're _blaming_ me as well?" She stuck her tongue out at him, "Yuck!"

Jaime smiled, his anger fading some. "Smell o' vision, huh?"

"I'm just glad he's not very big. Real bears have a bone in their pricks, and that surely would be gag-worthy." 

"He was bigger in the dream," Jaime admitted. 

"Of course he was. How did it make you feel, seeing the actual man naked tonight? Any better?" 

Jaime snorted. "No. Though I seem to remember dream-Bearfucker also seemed taller and fitter in the dream."

Brienne flopped back down beside him, "I suppose I should be grateful he didn't kiss me with that food-bearing beard of his."

"Oh, he kissed you all right. And slobbered on your breasts." 

"Gods!" Her hands flew to cover them, "Ew, ew, ew."

Jaime gently pulled her hands away. "You needn't hide them from me, sweetling. Though maybe you should – it seems in dream or reality, I don't protect them as they deserve."

"Like when you bit my nipple earlier?" She brushed her toes suggestively along his shins.

"You do seem to like it, wench. I always worry about hurting you, though."

"I never feel as if you're hurting me, you know. The sensation is different. Besides, you almost always know just when and how much I need." She lay back and stared at the ceiling, "And you never treat them like rubber pacifiers, which is nice."

"I try not to, my lady." Jaime resisted the urge to demonstrate.  

"I'm almost afraid to ask what else happened in the dream." She rolled back onto her side, "It's such a mix of sexy and repulsive."

"Sexy, really?"

"Aspects of it, yes. I fear I might be a closet exhibitionist, ser, because the thought of you making love to me in front of another man makes me ridiculously randy." A deep blush spread from her hairline to her chest, "I couldn't do it in real life, you know. Let someone watch us, I mean. Maybe I just like the idea because I've never really felt sexy with anyone but you, and it boosts my ego imagining another man getting aroused while you're – what did you call it – making me yours."

"Mine," he affirmed, shifting closer to her. "You think it all comes down to ego? I think exhibitionism is a common enough fantasy."

"I suppose so, if the demos are anything to go by. But what about you? If the dream had been mine, how would you feel about someone watching as I claimed you?"

"Do you mean I'd be the one blindfolded and tied down?"

"Maybe."

"So you'd have another woman in the room? Doing what – sitting on my face?"

Brienne wrinkled her nose, "I didn't think it out that far."

"Does the idea bother you?"

"Of course it does. Though you would be blindfolded, and wouldn't know who –"

"Would that make a difference? You didn't know it was Bearfucker touching you in my dream, but I was still upset."

"Would any man meddling with me bother you, or just especially Bearfucker?"

"Any man, wench. Ellaria got it right; I'm very possessive. Probably not a good trait for this kind of club."

"An odd choice to join then, wasn't it?"

"My brother put me up to it. He thought I needed to get laid."

Brienne looked inquisitive, "What did he know about it? I'd never advise anyone to join a sex club unless I had first-hand experience."

"He was a member for some time. Would you –"

Her eyes widened, "Your brother was a member?" 

He chuckled. If Brienne knew Tyrion was a dwarf she'd be even more astonished. "He's always been adventurous," Jaime said mildly, "and over-sexed. But I was trying to ask if you'd advise someone to join a sex club, now that you _do_ have first-hand experience." 

"I don't know. I doubt it. Not that I haven't enjoyed it, but for every Leo there are likely a dozen Krakens trying to hook up."

"Tentacle guy?"

"The very one. If you hadn't been here this season…"

"What if I hadn't?"

"I've often wondered about that. Would I have gone along, sleeping with any man I fancied? Gotten into the more extreme kink?" Brienne grinned at him, "I must admit, the club has made me more open-minded. My fantasies are kinkier than they used to be."

"Like the one about someone watching as I make love to you?" Jaime smiled back at her, "On behalf of my penis, it seems an exciting concept. Though my choice for an audience wouldn't be a man."

"Oh? Is there a woman at the club you'd have watch us?" 

"Wench…that's the kind of question only a very foolish man would answer."

Brienne's eyes narrowed, "So you _do_ have someone in mind?"

"No! Er, well, I didn't _before_. Tell me this – if there's a man at the club you wouldn't mind having watch as we fucked, would you tell _me_ who it was?"

"Would you be able to understand that it didn't mean I wanted to have sex with him?"

"So you _do_ have someone in mind."

"If I _had_ to, I could think of one or two men. _If_ we were going to do something like that. Which we're _not_."

Jaime tried to keep his tone light, "One or two?" 

Apparently, he failed. "For fuck's sake, you really don't trust me, do you?" Brienne tickled his ribs, "We're only talking about a fantasy here, doofus."

 _Light, Jaime, keep it light:_ "So it _is_ something you think about?"

"Well, it is _now_. Fantasies are harmless, or so I've heard. What woman did you think of?"

He examined her face, still stunned that he was able to do so after seeing her in the mask for so long. "You don't really want to know, do you?"

"Not really, no." She took a deep breath and braced herself, "Tell me anyway." 

"Ellaria."

"Ellaria?"

"Yes, but not just because she's rather sexy," he watched as she absorbed what he'd said, ingested it like a bitter pill. _You idiot, Jaime!_  "In a sort of…carnal way. We're only talking about being observed, you know. You do know that, right?"

"I know," she said in a small voice. "Thank for not saying Little Bird or Rose."

"As if I would, wench. Little Bird is barely out of puberty and Rose – no offense to your friend, but she's not to my taste. If someone were to watch us, I can't think of anyone better than Ellaria to see just how right she is to call me possessive of you."

Brienne rolled her eyes, "Well, that would put her in her place." 

"I'd also like to show her that this aurochs-shit rule about anonymity hasn't done anything to keep us from falling – from getting to really know each other." Brienne's lips quirked up at his near-slip. Now that he'd said he loved her, he seemed unable to stop blurting out the L-word every few minutes.  "You're the only woman I want, and everyone knows it."

"Speaking of that, as Rose was driving us here tonight she started grilling me on what you like."

"What, like food and movies?" 

"I'm afraid not," Brienne said with no hint of humor, "she wanted to know your kinks."

"That's alarming," He said sharply," What business is it of hers?" _Blackmail? Gossip?_

Brienne tilted her head quizzically, "She just said she wanted to know in case you re-up for the next Season." 

"We'd still be Paramours, of course –" Jaime paused as what she'd said sunk in. "Wait, are you coming back? _Have you decided?_ "

"I…I don't know, Leo." She tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, "I rather doubt it."

Mask or not, Jaime couldn't decipher her expression. "You know that I wouldn't ever want to be here without you, wench." 

"If we hadn't met this Season, you'd have stayed."

"No, I wouldn't –"

"You would. There's no shame in it, you know. You didn't come here to fall in love."

"Neither did you!" 

"No. But I did."

Jaime's heart hit his ribs like the first kick of Braavosball season,   "You do? I mean, you _did_?"

"Yes, I did." Brienne's smile widened, "And I do."

Jaime hesitated only a moment, mentally searching for traps. Word play? Hallucination brought on by too much brownie? "You love me?" She nodded, but he needed more, "I'm sorry to be so needy, but I'd like to hear you say it."

Brienne looked stricken, "Sorry! I didn't think." Her eyes darted to his hand, resting on her hip. She picked it up and flattened his palm over her heart, gazing at him so sincerely that he began to feel foolish for begging. 

"You don't have to –"

"I love you." 

_She said it!_

Jaime hadn't any idea what expression he wore, but if the joy in Brienne's eyes mirrored his, he must be glowing like High Street on Winterfest eve. Also, breathing as though he'd run up a flight or three of stairs, "I think I'm going to pass out, wench. Feel my heart."

She rested her broad, strong hand on his chest. "It's beating as hard as mine is," she said, delighted.

"I know. I think they're beating in time."  

"I'm sorry I couldn't say it before, Leo."

"But you can now? Why?"

"Maybe I'm just feeling especially truthsome tonight," she said, and he felt her heart speeding up again. 

"Or maybe the Yofi-Danaan has something to do with it."

"No. I love you," she affirmed. Did she feel his heart somersaulting beneath her palm? "My courage might be up because of the Yo-Da, but I was in love with you before tonight."

"How long, wench?"

"I don't know, truly. I tried to fight it," Brienne sighed.

"I know, wench," Jaime scowled, "I was there."

"I lost the battle."

"You fought well, my lady. Though I'd feel better if you didn't think of it as 'losing' the battle."

"I don't know if I've lost the battle or just joined the other side. Maybe both." She looked searchingly at him, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion, "I do love you, ser, so very much. Against my will and all good sense. Gods help me."

"Oh, wench." _Gods help us both._

"Don't you start now," she demanded, her voice cracking. Jaime nodded and closed his eyes, catching moisture in his lashes. He felt Brienne's fingertip brush the edge of one eye, then the other. "Look at me, my love," she whispered.

He opened his eyes, seeing her through a prism of unshed tears. How he must appear to her, his eyes unnaturally green and bloodshot. _Freakish and unmanly_ , Tywin had scolded whenever he'd cried as a child. Brienne wasn't looking at him like a freak, though. She was smiling through tears of her own, and when Jaime smiled back she practically tackled him, kissing him fiercely. 

Not to be outdone, he rolled her beneath him, laughing and trying to land his own kisses as she struggled to regain her position on top. Brienne was strong, and determined along with it, while Jaime was so giddy with happiness that he quite underestimated her abilities. With a surge of effort, Brienne reversed their position, pinning Jaime beneath her. She was laughing breathlessly, smiling down at him when Jaime hooked a leg between hers and flipped them again – right onto the floor with a _thud_ that the plush carpet barely muffled. Jaime caught at the edge of the duvet and it came down as well, followed by the pillows. 

He loosely draped the blanket over them while Brienne arranged the pillows, "We could make a fort, if we used the bed and chair," he joked.

"And hide in there when they come to make us leave. Excellent plan." 

"That would be nice," Jaime twirled a strand of her hair round his finger, "What are we going to do?" 

"About leaving?" Brienne chose his stomach for a pillow. He didn't object.

"In a way. I meant, what are we going to do now, since we're in love with each other," Jaime held his breath.

"Ah," she said blandly, "so you've noticed the aurochs in the room."

"I think we both have. I've been tripping over it since the second week. You've admitted that you're in love with me, too. Does that change anything for us?"

"Does it need to?" She lifted her head to see him better. 

"Are you really prepared to never see me again when the Season ends?" 

"I was in love with you before tonight, you know." 

"But now there's no plausible deniability."

She let he head fall back to his belly, "Are you a barrister now? No, there isn't, and I'm not prepared to never see you again, Leo. We've still got," she tapped his chest with her thumb, followed by each finger before starting over, " _eleven, twelve_ …seven more weeks in this Season –" 

Jaime groaned, "You haven't changed your mind about us, then."

"I haven't _made up_ my mind. There's a difference."

"You're still deciding whether or not to do next Season."

"Oh, there's no way in the seven hells I'm coming back next season," she folded her hands over his ribs and propped her chin on them. 

Jaime put another pillow behind his head, grumbling, "Then what? Spell it out for me, wench. What are you making your mind up about?"

"Us. Whether we'd have a chance. If we tried to be together when this is over."

"And what about the rules? You said you could never break the _rules_ ," Jaime realized he sounded angry and tried to soften his tone, "The rules still apply after the season. I read the contract."

A small smile flickered across Brienne's face, "Fuck the rules."

Jaime's heart leapt - _Braavosball **score!**_ "You mean –"

"I'll make up my mind by the end of the season," she said, suppressing a grin, "If we both feel this way in seven weeks, I think maybe we should date."

Was she being funny on purpose? He wasn't laughing. _Seven weeks!_ "Seven weeks, wench?"

"Altogether we've spent less than five _nights_ together, Leo. Let's be sure."

"I'm sure," he grumbled, chin tucked to chest. Had his eyebrows been long enough they'd have bristled. As it was, his attempt at looking like a disgruntled troll had little to no effect on her.

Brienne chuckled and got up, Jaime watching her from the floor as she walked to the sideboard. He found the view very fine as she bent and twisted about, gathering a few treats on a tray. "Champagne?" She asked without turning around, "and stop staring."

"Yes. And no. Why should I?" He sat up, "You would."

She brought the tray to the bed, smoldering eyes roaming over his body as she walked. "I so would." She set the tray down, "I order you to get back on the bed and finish telling me about your semi-sexy dream."

Jaime stood. Brienne noticed. "Hm, the rest of it must be sexy indeed. Else you're just happy to see chocolate."

"I am." Jaime tossed the pillows onto the bed and followed, rocking the tray so it nearly tipped, "Oops."

Brienne raised an eyebrow at him and got on without disturbing the platter of chocolate and fruit. "Where were we, now?" She picked up a strawberry, sniffed it and took a small bite. _"Mmmm."_

"We were on the floor. That must be a _really_ good strawberry."

"Here," she held the bitten berry to his mouth and he sucked it out of her fingers.

" _Mmmm_ ," the flavors burst on his tongue, tangy and sweet and somehow effervescent. All of the jokes he'd ever heard about having 'the munchies' came back to him in a rush of understanding. 

"I meant where were we in the dream," Brienne said, sniffing a chocolate. She took a bite, "Mm, truffle. I think we were at the part where you were claiming me."

"I think we got off topic there, didn't we?" Jaime smirked, "You were telling me you wanted me to fuck you in front of someone."

"I said it was a fantasy. _Just_ a fantasy," her lower lip was smeared with chocolate. He wanted to taste it.

"Sure," Jaime selected a rounded rectangle of chocolate and popped it in his mouth. Coconut. Drat. At home, he would have spit it in the garbage. He chewed reluctantly.

Brienne handed him a tissue, "Coconut? We should start a campaign to make them stamp those with a Yuk face. I think the last thing we talked about was how you wanted Ellaria to tell you how you should fuck me."

Jaime sputtered his champagne, "To watch us – not to be our Domme!" He put down his glass.

"I meant more as an instructor."

"Oh. In that case it'll probably pass the twitch test."

"The twitch test?"

"If my cock twitches at the idea, it might just have merit."

Brienne glanced down at the organ in question, which had careened past twitching into hard nuisance back when he'd still been lying on the floor, admiring the curve of her bottom. "Good to know," she said, biting her lip.

"All bets are off when you're laying next to me all naked and chocolatey, my lady. Don't mistake my manhood's turgid appearance for interest in anything but you."

"Oh, I would never," she assured him, a little too heartily.  

"So –" Jaime braced himself, "Will you tell me who you want watching while I lick you until you shudder?"

"I think I just twitched," Brienne said in surprise.

"No doubt," Jaime said drily. "But not the answer I seek. So let me try again; who is observing as I plunge my throbbing cock into your pussy and suck your nipples?"

"You're all I need," Brienne assured him breathily, her pupils spreading as he watched. 

Damn, he should talk dirty to her more often. "Yes, I am. But you wanted me demonstrate that, I think? Tell me who were you thinking of."

"You won't act like a jealous jerk?" Brienne took a sip of champagne and hiccoughed through her nose, "Jealous over me, hah! But then you're an odd lion, true enough." 

Jaime was finding it adorable the way Brienne seemed to careen between take-me-now sexiness and yofied silliness, "Call me an odd lion as much as you like, wench; just don't call me an old one. I promise not to be jealous. Now will you tell me?"

"Valar."

Jaime stifled a relieved laugh. "Valar? The guy who walked in on us that first night? Mister 'a gentleman always makes certain the lady comes first'?"

"He never said that. Did he?"

"No. That was me. Why him?"

"Well, he's like Ellaria's counterpart – there to appreciate and instruct. And sexy in a nerdy theater-usher kind of way."

"I'm a little surprised you didn't pick Oberyn. He's an instructor as well."

"He'd just try to steal you from me."

"Or you from me."

"True enough. If anyone could be said to ooze sex appeal, it would be Oberyn."

Jaime wanted to be jealous, but she was right. Oberyn was like the poster child for hedonism, "I'm sure he and Ellaria have gotten into some scenes that would make us both blush. But Valar…you do know he has that ridiculous streak in his hair, right?"

"Leo, you really are taking this too seriously."

"I guess it could be worse. I was worried you'd choose Dog."

"Oh honestly, love, you must to get over this Hodor envy."

"I suppose so, but he was pretty obvious in his preference for you, and I'm –"

"A doofus," she finished for him. "He only had eyes for Little Bird tonight. Or didn't you notice?"

"I noticed he had a lot more than that for Rose."

"A man who presumably makes a living by his cock could hardly be expected not to employ his gifts well and often. Even sex workers can fall in love."

"Maybe so," Jaime admitted. "What would you have thought of me, if I'd been working for the club rather than being a member?"

"Oh, let me think about that," Brienne closed her eyes and let her hand stray beneath the covers. "Mmm, yes, I'm picturing it now…you're wearing nothing but the harness from your dream…you're up on stage, gloriously hard, a leonine god that everyone in the room wants…" Jaime watched her hand moving beneath the duvet, unsure if she was mocking him or not, actually touching herself or - "Women begin raising their hands, asking to come up on stage with you. Their paramours are jealous, but they know when they've been outclassed…oh, _yes_." 

"And what about you?" Jaime hauled her hand back above the covers and Brienne opened her eyes to watch as he sucked her fingers clean, "Are you volunteering to come on stage with me?"

"Are you kidding? I'd worship you from afar and get off thinking about you later."

"Is that so? And would you use this," Jaime kissed the tip of her index finger, "or maybe the toy you sent me?"

"Both, of course." Brienne looked smug, "But I don't have to rely on those, since I have you."

"I suppose you don't, though I am looking forward to using the glass wand with you. In fact, maybe one night we should explore more of the toys provided by the club."

"Would you let me use some on you?" Brienne was still flushed, and Jaime felt slightly guilty for stealing her hand away to taste. 

"Toys for me? Aren't most of them meant for women?"

"I suppose the majority are, but certainly not all," Brienne turned back onto her side, reclaimed her hand and slipped it beneath the covers again, this time to cup his balls, "I bet some kind of vibe would feel really good down here."

"Wench, everything you do feels good down there."

"Still. If you're going to use toys on me, I want to do the same to you." Brienne scooted closer and whispered, "Maybe I'll tie you down first, and blindfold you, as you did to me in the dream."

"But just you, right? I have zero interest in anyone else seeing me at your mercy like that." She'd piqued his interest and his imagination was busily generating scenarios of what she might do to him. Some of it was disturbing. All of it was exciting. 

"I've already told you that being watched is for fantasy only. I'd want complete privacy when I tie you down and make you beg." Brienne smiled as his cock moved in her hand, "Now _that_ was a twitch!" 

"Guilty," Jaime thrust into her hand and kissed her sloppily. She opened her mouth to his tongue readily enough and he moved on top of her.

"Wait," she gasped as he put his lips to her throat, "tell me what else happened in your dream."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have terrible timing? There wasn't much else. Really."

"Then how did it end?" She reached down and guided his cock inside. 

Jaime rocked his hips into her and she took him deep, "At the end I was so furious and hurt about what I'd seen you do to Bearfucker that I wanted to kill him, but I was too caught up in wanting you."

"Mm? I think you said that already."

"I was standing, you were spread wide on the table, and I looked down as I took you, watching as I my cock penetrated you, your sweet pussy taking me inside …" Jaime's throat was dry and his dick wet, as turned on now as he'd been in the dream, though his movements were slower and more loving. Brienne, too, was caught up in his story and the languorous pace of their lovemaking, "And then you were calling my name. My _real_ name, and begging me to come with you."

"And was that the end?" Brienne whispered, "How did I know your name?"

"I don't know, because that's when I woke up. I'd come, and my sheets were wet with it.  I felt so ashamed, wench."

"It was just a dream, after all," she said kindly, "You shouldn't let it trouble you."

"It was just…after Bearfucker talked to us last week, I got it in my head that you wanted to try something new, and I wanted to keep you happy." 

"You thought I wanted _that?_ I wasn't even listening last week." 

"I know that now, but I've been worried I wasn't keeping you interested. I know I've been selfish, Brienne, in making sure no other man gets too close to you." She gave him a vaguely puzzled look, but Jaime rushed on, "What I'm saying is, I love you and I don't ever want to share you, but I'd do anything to make you happy."

"Did you just –" Brienne narrowed her eyes, then shook her head. "I must be getting even more yofied from that last bite. Never mind. You do make me happy, ser. Happier than I've any right to be." 

"Then I just have to keep you that way for the next seven weeks, wench. Think I have a chance?"

She wrapped her legs more tightly around his hips, "I do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and special, grateful thanks to those who comment and kudo.


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